


Teratopathy

by apprenticeofcups



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Aftercare, Alley Sex, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Animals, Bird/Human Hybrids, Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Bottom Julian Devorak, Choking, Coitus Interruptus, Come Shot, Demon & Human Interactions, Demon Deals, Demon/Human Relationships, Demons, Developing Relationship, Disembowelment, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Eating, Feral Behavior, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Gen, Groping, Horns, Human/Monster Romance, Kidnapping, Light Dom/sub, Literal Heart-Wrenching, Love Bites, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Making Out, Medical Examination, Multi, Murder Mystery, Mutilation, Mystery, Nightmares, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Oral Sex, Prophetic Dreams, Prophetic Visions, Rejection, Slow Burn, Sub Julian Devorak, Teasing, Teeth, Vampire Bites, Were-Creatures, Werewolves, Wolf Instincts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2019-11-20 13:05:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprenticeofcups/pseuds/apprenticeofcups
Summary: ter • a • to • pa • thy, from Greek: the suffering of monstersIn a deep birch forest, a young magician investigates a series of bizarre and disturbing attacks in his isolated, Grimmsian city.





	1. The Devil With The Three Golden Hairs

**Author's Note:**

> Commission for canistheapprentice.tumblr.com (I'm finally paying you back for all the art <3)! (explicit chapters are *)

             “Valentin?” Canis held the hooded lantern high, peering into the dark forest. He stayed close to the path, never straying more than a step or two into the trees; it was easy enough to get turned around in the woods in daylight. While calling over and over for his missing housemate had the unfortunate side effect of announcing his presence to everything that prowled the woods at this advanced hour, it was marginally safer than the disadvantage of hunting in silence, running the risk of walking right past Valentin’s hiding spot—assuming he had the good sense to hide.

             Of course, good sense, Canis thought ruefully, would’ve been staying out of the forest altogether, after another flayed animal corpse had cropped up in the city center, drained of blood, ribs exploded outward, skin falling in shreds off splintered bones, only swipes of dried blood on the cobblestones and huge, savage claw-marks traced back to the edge of the forest to give any indication of the culprit, but since Valentin’s usually-impeccable judgement had failed him in that, Canis couldn’t just leave him.

             He followed the bank of the river, stoking the lantern’s flame every so often with a wave of his hand and a sprinkle of golden sparks, calling. When he reached the cluster of thick, purplish-leaved bushes disguising the river’s sharp bend, he paused, listening through the ambient sounds of nocturnal life and the distant roar of the waterfall far downstream. When nothing stood out, he moved in to search the bushes.

             His next step made a sickly, wet squishing sound, the ground beneath his gold-brocade boot giving way much more than it should have, even for the loose soil of the river bank. Canis looked down—and gagged.

             The grass was soaked with blood, wine-red under the lantern light. He would’ve chalked it up to fallen berries—they weren’t called bloodberries for nothing—but for the scraps of fur, chunks of viscera, splashes of clear vital fluid mixed in with the mess, and the repulsive, metallic, raw-meat stench. Following the vile, streaky drag marks with his light, Canis came around the copse of bushes, bile rising in his throat.

             Splayed out on the river bank had once been an animal, presumably—from the still-intact tail and one spotted ear hanging off a shattered skull by a thread, Canis guessed a large dog, thought it had lost a good deal of its largeness to whatever had ripped it open under the bushes. Its new resting place and much of its flesh were bloodless, the internal cavity mostly empty, with a few ribbons of flesh dangling in the water, the river’s currents having swept away most of the entrails. The skull was smashed beyond recognition, and the eyes were missing.

             Recoiling from the grisly sight, Canis turned to flee back to the treeline when he heard a sigh, too soft to be the wind, too isolated to be an animal, in the woods just in front of him. He froze, easing down the black tin hood over his light, willing the flame to snuff itself, plunging himself into the shadows at the edge of the brush. Amid the banded white trunks, hardly more than ten feet in front of him, a twig snapped, followed by wet, slurping sounds that made his stomach turn. Slowly, his eyes began to adjust, and he could make out a shape in the dense forest, crouched in the underbrush, glimpses of pale skin he’d mistaken for moonlight dribbling through the leaves. As he watched, the sounds of something _licking_ raising the hairs on the back of his neck, there was a flash of gold, brilliant and artificial. He took a measured, silent breath, backing away from the trees, and tasted smoke, like incense, heady and sweet. It did not combine pleasantly with the smell of death, and before he could stop himself, he retched.

             Red. Not the bleached, tired approximation under the moonlight, but pure, vivid crimson, burning into his eyes from the depths of the forest. They were eyes, Canis was sure of it, but unlike any he’d ever seen, in a face unlike any he’d ever seen, ghostly pale with inky-black markings like some kind of strange mask and, as he watched, a white, too-wide, far-too-pointed grin.

             He hurled the lantern, bolting back to the path without waiting to see it hit. He hadn’t taken three steps before an arm like an iron bar wrapped around his chest, pulling him flush to a strange body, a voice like mercury and broken glass murmuring in his ear.

             “Not so fast, my tasty little unfortunate.”

             Canis let out a yelp, struggling, but the grip was unyielding; the arm locked over his chest looked like armor, panels of sleek gold with an eerie white glow between the slats, while the hand clasping his shoulder was black as soot, the color fading to an unearthly pale partway up the forearm, taut muscle holding him easily in place. Both hands were tipped with wicked claws, the golden set glinting in the moonlight. The smoky-sweet smell was all around him, now, oddly warm in the crisp night air. The black hand clamped down, claws just pricking through his constellation-patterned cloak and pink voile underneath, and Canis cried out, flinching away.

             “Shh, shh-shh-shh…” The black hand gripped his jaw controllingly. Lips moved against his ear, feverishly hot, breath washing his cheek with the scent of fresh blood. “I wasn’t expecting you, but I never say no to dessert.”

             Canis felt the mouth open wide against his cheek, and his magic responded instinctively, exploding into golden flames around him. With a guttural snarl, the clawed hands released him, and he should’ve run, but he turned to see it, instead.

             It was almost like a man, dressed only in a cloth draped like a ruby-red palla, falling off one shoulder and a decidedly humanoid chest, but for the clawed hands, the golden arm sprouting apparently seamlessly from a soot-black shoulder; for the mask of black markings, a pointed teardrop in the middle of the forehead like an inverted third eye and pupil, two thick black stripes curving around like brushstrokes to the temples, sharp black switchbacks under the evil red eyes mirroring the shape of the dark brows above; for the gleaming, bared, carnivorous-looking teeth and long, sharp, spiral-shaped black horns arching back over platinum hair, fading to pure white where they rooted in the skull. As he stared, the creature licked a splash of congealing blood off the corner of its mouth, grimacing.

             “A magician, huh?” One dark, stenciled brow cocked, pale lips curling smugly. “You really will be a treat.”

             Canis summoned flames to his hands again, raising one defensively. “Stay back.”

             “Ooh, spunky.” It stalked toward him, ‘til he could see the drops of liquid silver in the luminous red eyes. “And so _pretty_ …oh, I could just eat—you— _up_.”

             A growl crept into its voice, and Canis shuddered, but he didn’t back down. “What are you?”

             “A Capricorn.” The black claws unfolded, reaching for his face. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to get me anything.”

             Canis made a swipe with his burning hand, and it flinched away, snapping, “Oh, come on!”

             In spite of himself, he giggled. “What’s the matter? Scared of a little fire?” He feinted toward it with the flames, and it jumped back, snarling. Canis looked the creature over again, eyeing the bloody streaks splattered down its chin and chest, crumbling as they dried. “So you’re what’s been killing the livestock.”

             With an offended gasp, the golden hand flew to its chest. “I am _not_.”

             “Then how do you explain that?” Canis gestured to the patch of bloody ground and the dead, inside-out dog, trying not to look at either one.

             “If I had a whole cow today, I wouldn’t have needed _that_ ,” it sneered, rolling its eyes.

             Canis cocked an eyebrow. “I never said it was a cow.”

             It grinned, showing its teeth—at least two sets of long canines, and the rest were no less sharp. “I know more than you think, little magician.” It took a few paces toward him, wiping the blood off its chin with the black hand and licking its fingers clean. “What’s your name?”

             He frowned. “What’s yours?”

             “Lucio.” He turned his golden claws in the moonlight, admiring them. “It means ‘light’.”

             Canis snorted derisively. “Canis. I’d tell you what it means, but I think you’d get too excited.”

             “Oh, I’m already excited—” The creature—Lucio—lunged for him, but Canis wreathed himself in flames again. They licked over his clothes harmlessly, leaping less-harmlessly forward to nip at Lucio’s fingers. He recoiled with a low growl, feral and deep in his chest. Keeping his protective bubble of magical flames, Canis crossed his arms. “Here’s how this is going to go. You bring me the lantern I threw at you, and I turn around and go home. And you _don’t_ follow me,” he added sharply, holding out his hand expectantly.

             “I don’t _fetch_ ,” Lucio hissed, bristling. The shadows seemed to curl and elongate around him, dark black markings deepening to bottomless chasms, eyes flashing so searingly bright the full moon seemed to blink away to nothingness.

             “That’s a cute trick,” Canis retorted, opening and closing his hand with a sweet smile. “Lantern, please.”

             Lucio glared at him a moment more, still enveloped in shadow, and for a moment, Canis worried he’d pushed too far—then the tin handle of the lantern plopped into his hand.

             He blinked. Lucio had retreated to the treeline again, pouting into his rich red cloth.

             With a satisfied “hmph”, Canis turned on his heel, following the river back to the path and lighting his lantern with a flick of his hand. Behind him, he heard the creature mutter, “Tease.”


	2. The Good Bargain

            The next day, Valentin still hadn’t returned. By noon, the rumors were all over town—whatever evil was in the woods had claimed one of the magicians. Canis still wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t met it.

            While Asra worked with manic energy through a growing pile of orders for protection spells, luck potions, and house-warding charms, Canis dragged out every book, scroll, and margin note he could track down about the woods, paying close attention to the legends of mysterious creatures—huge wolves, lifesucking spirits, gigantic birds blotting out the sun with ten sets of wings, and on and on. Plenty of the sightings were horned, plenty had red eyes…but, as is the trouble with researching legends, nothing was definitive. Throwing down his third book of fairy tales and fourteenth thinly-veiled don’t-talk-to-strangers parable, he sighed, rubbing his eyes with little regard for the sanctity of his makeup. “What do _you_ think it is?”

            “Huh?” Glancing up from the floating recipe-book and glass pots of shimmering herbs, Asra snapped himself back to reality.

            Canis stretched, leaning back in the creaky papasan chair and unfolding his legs, cramping from crossing so long under so many books. “The thing in the woods.”

            “I’m not sure it _is_ in the woods.” Asra yawned, crushing rosehips in Valentin’s blue granite mortar. “Some creatures capable of unspeakable horror can pass almost undetected among humans.”

            “Cheerful.” Teasingly, Canis cocked an eyebrow. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

            “Yeah—are you free to mutilate some sheep with me later?” Asra rolled his eyes.

            “Most wild animals don’t display their kills,” Canis mused. “Whatever it is, it wants to be noticed.”

            “Or to be feared.”

            He was quiet for a moment. “…You don’t think it has Valentin, do you?”

            Asra shook his head, not looking up from his work. “You and I would feel it if something had happened to Valentin. For all we know, he picked up its trail, and he’s on his way back from turning it to stone and dropping it off a cliff.”

            Canis laughed, mostly in relief. “You think that would work?”

            Setting aside the pestle and wiping his hands on an asymmetrical dishrag, Asra counted off on his fingers. “Wooden stakes for vampires, silver blades for werewolves, and if it’s a demon, trap it in salt ‘til you figure out how to banish it.” He shrugged. “Anything else, petrifying it should do the trick.”

            “Well, we know it’s not a werewolf,” Canis said, pointing to his notes. “The attacks happen during every phase of the moon.” He thought for a minute. _I know more than you think, little magician_. “Salt?”

            Asra nodded, floating a magenta-bound book over to him from the kitchen. “Most any ritual circle or sigil will do it. Salt purifies—dead and undead, like demons and angry spirits, can’t cross it.”

            So that was how Canis came to be hiking through the forest for the second night in a row, the baker’s brown-and-white spaniel bouncing on a leash, carefully pouring nine-tenths of a circle of salt around a small, hidden clearing about a hundred yards from the bloodberry patch. Tethering—and apologizing profusely to—the spaniel in the middle of the clearing, he settled in the brush, bringing the ends of the circle closer and closer together with a careful magical breeze, ‘til all he had to do was blow to close it completely. As the sun began to set, he sprinkled a notice-me-not spell over the circle and himself, and waited.

            He had plenty of time, as the darkness closed in around him, the nighttime inhabitants of the forest chittering and rustling awake, to second-guess himself. He had no real evidence his new friend and quarry _was_ a demon, save for the similarities with loosely-sketched illustrations in books of fairy tales. He had no reason to believe the salt would hold, or that he’d be able to close the gap in time, or evacuate the dog in time—he’d promised to bring it back to the baker, after all, and he didn’t relish the thought of a front-row seat to the process that had left last night’s mangled corpse.

            The waning moon rose higher and higher above the trees; in the circle, the spaniel paced. Canis shifted slightly in his hiding-place, wishing he’d brought a blanket or a cushion to keep the leaves and dead branches from poking him repeatedly in the ass. He stifled a yawn, bundling up tighter in his cloak.

            Far, far off in the distance, too much so to pinpoint where it came from, something roared, long and loud enough that a hush fell over the forest. Canis held his breath, the insect-chirps and scratching of clawed feet halting abruptly. In the circle, the dog sat down and whined.

            Like dropping a pebble in a pond, the noise came rippling back, the wood returning slowly, nervously to life. Across the clearing, in the cold light filtering through the birch canopy, a shadow moved, slinking, stalking closer. The spaniel’s ears pricked, its pinkish-brown nose twitching. Canis sat up straight, drawing up his magic, pinning it to the dog’s tether and the tiny aperture in the glamoured salt-circle. Between the trees, two points of glowing red appeared, low in the underbrush.

            The spaniel let out a growl, ears flattening. Brilliant gold flashed in the moonlight, and Canis sliced through the dog’s tether with a burst of flame, bringing the two lines of salt together as the spaniel fled into the trees.

            Snarling, Lucio lunged to follow it, but the moment his golden arm lashed over the line of salt, his was thrown flat on his back. Scrambling to his feet, spitting mad, he clawed at the ground, tearing up deep furrows of dirt and grass, but the circle didn’t budge.

            Watching him flounder, Canis stepped into the light, letting his glamour melt away.

            Venomously, Lucio flung a handful of dirt at him. “What the _hell_?!”

            Shielding himself with his cloak so the dirt-clod broke up harmlessly against the beaded-and-stitched Sagittarius, Canis came to the very edge of the circle, reaching curiously for the salt line, though he didn’t let his hand cross it. “So you _are_ a demon.”

            “So what?” Lucio spat, throwing himself at the invisible barrier, only to bounce roughly back into the center. “Let me out.”

            “Mm…” Pacing around the circle, Canis tapped his chin in mock-contemplation. “…not yet.”

            “Not _yet_?” Showing his teeth like a caged animal, Lucio made a grab for him with the deadly golden claws. He could reach over the line, it seemed, like reaching through the bars of a jail cell, but the circle wouldn’t let the rest of him pass.

            Quickly, Canis took a few steps back, wrapping up in his cloak. “I have questions for you.”

            “I’m not saying _shit_ ‘til you let me out,” Lucio growled. He was dressed differently from before, dark red trousers rolled to just below the knee, open white shirt cinched at the waist with a single black, tasseled cord.

            “I’m not letting you out ‘til you tell me what I want to know,” Canis countered, crossing his arms.

            “…Okay.” Gnawing on one black claw, Lucio frowned. “Quid pro quo. You get three questions, then you let me out.”

            “Ten questions.” Canis sniffed. “And how do I know you won’t lie?”

            Lucio scowled, looking away. “I can’t.”

            “You…what?”

            “I can’t _lie_ ,” he snapped. “I can equivocate, I can refuse to answer, I can screw you over any other way, but I can’t lie, and I can’t break my word.”

            Canis studied him, suspiciously, red eyes self-consciously avoiding his own. “Really.”

            “Three questions.” Lucio huffed. “And I don’t count what you’ve already asked.”

            “You shouldn’t do that, anyway.” Canis pouted.

            “Like freckly little magicians,” he mused, straining at the invisible wall and licking his lips, “rules are more fun when they’re bent.”

            The rough edge in his voice sent a shiver up Canis’ spine. He still smelled like incense, cloying and smoky, and hot metal.

            “Seven questions,” Canis suggested, swallowing. “And you can refuse to answer…one. No penalty.”

            “Aren’t we a shrewd little negotiator,” Lucio grumbled, turning away. “Not a chance.”

            “Alright.” With a shrug, Canis whistled for the dog. “I’ll come back tomorrow night. We’ll see how you feel then.”

            Reluctantly, the spaniel trotted out from behind a tree, keeping wide, nervous eyes on the salt circle. Following it with his eyes, Lucio swallowed. “Wait, wait, wait—you can’t just leave me here.”

            “Why?” Tilting his head, Canis bent down to comfort the quivering dog. “Do you burn up in the sunlight?”

            “No, but—” Reaching over the line again, Lucio chewed on his bottom lip, black claws grabbing at the air. “You don’t know what’s out here. Wolves—”

            “Wolves?” Canis scoffed. “Some demonic horror you are. Can’t even take a few plain old wolves?”

            “There’s nothing plain about this one.” The dog cowered behind Canis as Lucio tried unsuccessfully to pounce on it, salivating. “Not to mention I’ll starve.”

            “After one night?” Canis rolled his eyes, turning to go.

            “It’s not like that—hey!” Dashing himself against the salt barrier, Lucio panted, “Four questions, and you give me the dog.”

            “Absolutely not!” Wheeling around, Canis glowered at him. “What is it with you and dogs, anyway?”

            “Ah-ah-ah—” Smugly, he grinned. “We haven’t closed our deal yet.”

            “Fine.” Canis shooed the spaniel back to the treeline. “Four questions. I leave with the dog— _alive_ —and I let you out.”

            “Hmph.” Sitting cross-legged in the clawed-up grass, Lucio set his chin in his golden hand. “Done.”

            “So.” Plopping down to sit opposite him, Canis folded his hands in his lap. “Are you what’s been killing livestock and kidnapping people?”

            “I already told you, no.” Lucio cocked an eyebrow. “One.”

            “No, you made fun of me for asking,” Canis corrected. “Do you know what is?”

            “No,” he admitted. “But it’s interesting you think there’s only one.”

            Canis hesitated. “Only one?”

            “Mm-hmm. Two.”

            He thought for a second. “…Why dogs? Is that all you can eat?”

            “Three, and no.” Lucio stretched, bones cracking in his neck. “They’re easy to lure off, and there’s too much competition for deer.”

            “Why do you leave the bodies…like that?” Canis made a face.

            “All I want is the blood—the rest can get thrown away,” Lucio replied smoothly, leaning back. “And that’s four.”

            “Actually?” Innocently, Canis smiled, batting his lashes. “That was six.”

            “Wha—I—” Open-mouthed, Lucio had to think for a second, confusion flashing over his face. Canis expected another flight of rage, but he only narrowed his eyes, turning up his nose. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

            “I used to.” Dusting himself off, Canis got up, going over to kick away part of the salt line. “Now I know I am.”

            “Wait.” Two soot-black fingers, featherlight on his chest, stopped him. “Double down.” Bloodred eyes glowing with intrigue, Lucio smiled. “One more question—lucky seven.”

            “What do you get?” Canis looked down at the fingers, radiating heat through his cornflower-blue blouse. “And that one doesn’t count.”

            “In return,” Lucio murmured, hooking the swooping collar of his blouse and reeling him in slowly, just to the edge of the circle. “I get a bite of _you_.”

            “A b…” Canis took a breath, pulling away from his touch. “No offense, but you’re kind of a messy eater.”

            “For you, sweetness, I’d clean up my act.” Running his fingers over his bottom lip, tantalizing himself, Lucio let out a sigh. “I don’t need much. Just a pint. You won’t even miss it.”

            The fierce, jagged teeth, the ravenous red eyes tracing over his neck, only scarcely protected by the hood of his cloak, made him tremble. He had, however, promised to return a live dog to the baker, and he couldn’t trust the poor thing to run fast enough once he opened the circle. Steeling himself, he nodded.

            “Done.” Still fixated on his neck, Lucio motioned for him to ask. “Make it count.”

            Goosebumps prickling down his arms, Canis swallowed. “What happens if you don’t eat?”

            Tearing his eyes away, Lucio laughed, the low, self-indulgent kind reserved for private jokes. Inspecting his golden claws, he shrugged. “I get hungry.”

            Something about it made Canis’ stomach flip-flop, and for a split second, he considered bolting, hopefully back to the protective wards and charms of home before something broke the circle by happenstance. But he’d given his word, and as ill-advised as it was to make deals with demons in the first place—somewhere between magical orientation and Otherworldly Creatures 101—breaking said deals couldn’t be much better. With the heel of his boot, he scratched a hole into the line of salt.

            Canis’ back hit the grass, one clawed hand clamped in his hair keeping his head from snapping back, the other wrapped around his wrist, pressing it into the ground. Lucio’s knees were tight around his hips, pinning him in place as sharp teeth sank into the base of his neck, biting into the muscle, sucking hungrily at the blood that bubbled up from the deep wounds. Canis cried out, kicking helplessly for what felt like hours, skewered on white-hot teeth, trapped under the mouth laving voraciously over his flesh. He dug his nails into Lucio’s back with his only free hand; the heat rolled off him in waves, the hot tang of sweet smoke sticking in Canis’ throat as if he were trapped in a burning building. He struggled fruitlessly, howling over the low, guttural groans of pleasure thrumming against his chest. Black spots exploded before his eyes, his head spinning, light and fuzzy.

            In an instant, it was over, the night air stingingly cold against the angry, oozing bite in his throat. Canis went limp, his vision slowly clearing; Lucio had rolled off him, leaning in the grass half-propped on an elbow. As Canis watched, still dazed, he licked himself clean, wiping up the fresh blood dripping down his chin and sucking it off the heel of his hand. He paused, reaching over and running his fingers over the bite. Canis winced, and he rolled his eyes.

            “I know, I know.” Lucio dried his face with the hem of his shirt. Where it lifted away from his stomach, Canis could see more charcoal-coloring on his skin, uneven outlines like holes burnt into paper decorating his stomach and ribs. “But if I don’t close it up for you, it might never stop.”

            Sitting up slowly, Canis felt gingerly over the bite. He could feel the distinct imprint of each tooth like the ridges on a globe, tender and throbbing but dry, magically closed-up where before they’d oozed freely. The spaniel peeked out of the trees as he got to his feet. He caught his breath, adrenaline starting to fade, a wave of exhaustion rolling in to take its place. Fighting off a yawn, Canis straightened his clothes and nodded graciously in Lucio’s direction. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

            “Mm…likewise.” Lucio brushed past him, pausing to admire his handiwork in the crook of Canis’ neck before folding seamlessly into the trees. “Let’s do it again sometime.”


	3. The Hut In The Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Canis gets intimately familiar with what lurks in the woods, his housemate wanders a little too far off the path.

             It was the last night of the full moon, the light slicing through the birch forest cold, deceptive, and bright. Valentin picked his way through the brush as quietly as he could, brambles and roots clinging to his plum wool coat, scarf and long black plaits coming undone from his unexpectedly long hike. It had been hours since he’d given up on finding the copse of bloodberry bushes Asra _swore_ lined the river north of town, and his hopes of finding the path were dangerously thin. If that weren’t bad enough, the forest was anything but silent around him, chirps and burbles and grunts of unseen creatures greeting him at every turn, though the things he didn’t hear, or almost didn’t hear—the gentle snap of a twig, the soft drag of something on bark—were worst of all. Once, he caught a glimpse of eyeshine in his periphery, though if it were watching him, he couldn’t tell, and when he crossed out of the thick trees to a clearing of grass and churned-up mud, a roar shattered the animal ambience, long, guttural, unearthly, and close.

             In its wake, the forest fell deadly silent. Valentin froze, moonlight outlining him in silver in the clearing, torn between taking his chances with the inhabitants of the trees and remaining in the open for all to see.

             Then the trees started to move.

             The canopy was undisturbed—more accurately, something huge shifted behind the trees, solid and impenetrable to the moonlight, quiet enough to move without disturbing the underbrush, big enough to blot out the light between the white trunks, like a black sky. Valentin stood stock-still, facing it head-on, summoning every ounce of magic he could without turquoise eddies escaping his hands. The magic waited for a look at what it had to fend off.

             Between two clumps of silvery leaves, two eyes appeared, brilliant green and glowing in the darkness. But they were impossibly high up, well into the branches, and impossibly far apart, more like lamps hanging in neighboring trees than anything in nature.

             The branches parted, and into the clearing stepped a wolf.

             Possibly. The creature had all the parts of a wolf, in the right configuration, but it was staggeringly big, its shoulder rising an easy foot above Valentin’s head, a mass of pitch-black fur as broad as a team of horses. Each wary, narrowed green eye was the size of his fist, and he could only imagine the size of the teeth in the colossal jaws.

             The roar came again, from somewhere different, and he didn’t have to imagine; the wolf let out a growl, low and rumbling like an earthquake, digging claws into the grass, thick ruff raising on its neck in alarm. Valentin stifled a gasp when he saw the teeth, canines as long and sharp as swords, covering his mouth with both hands. One pointed ear twitched, and the green eyes locked onto him, leathery black nostrils flaring. Slowly, it circled him, sniffing, paws the size of wagon wheels silent in the grass, moving around him like a barge on the water. Valentin held his breath, resisting the urge to cover his eyes, staring straight ahead as the monster wolf inspected him.

             The fences torn to shreds, blood trails leading to eviscerated remains of cattle, the parties traveling the woods at night that never returned—this was a creature, undoubtedly, capable of both. And more, from the look of its hide, slashed with long, puckered, hairless scars, some faded to whitish-grey, some still brown or dark red from trapped old blood. The animal smell of its fur surrounded him, heavy and lupine, cold earth and wet leaves.

             _Fuff_.

             With the heave of a sigh, the wolf lay down, shaking the trees as its tremendous weight settled onto the grass, not touching, but curled around him like a bandshell, head resting flat on the ground, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the treeline.

             Valentin blinked, lowering his hands from his face. Hesitantly, he took a step away from the creature, toward the gap between its head and huge back paws to the forest beyond.

             _Snrt._ The wolf lifted its head, looking at him, and he froze. It watched him for a moment more, then set its head down. He elected not to try again.

             The woods erupted again, not with the deep, feral roar, but an eerie, high shrieking, somewhere between a scream and a cackle, and moving—the snapping of branches and crashing of brush accompanied its approach, ‘til it was almost painfully loud.

             The wolf’s hackles raised, and before he could react, it curled tighter around him, nosing him hard in the back so he fell against its side, into the thicket of black fur, pressing him into its warm, scarred side. Unable to pull away, Valentin clung to its ribcage.

             The shrieking rose to a fever pitch, a strange, unnaturally-strong wind whipping up in the clearing, threatening to tear him away. The ribs under him thrummed, a long, mournful howl piercing through the horrible, grating screeches, like cold water on twisting metal. The wind paused, as if taking a breath. Fierce teeth sank into the back of his coat, and he was dragged unceremoniously off his feet; the wolf ran, Valentin dangling in its jaws like a rag doll, the forest whipping past him in a dark blur. At first, the shrieking seemed to follow, or at least persist, but he soon realized it was fading, ever so gradually, into the background of snapping brush and hard, lupine panting. Still, they flew through the forest, into denser and denser trees, thicker and wider trunks, ‘til all Valentin could hear was the rushing of air and pounding of paws.

             When they came to rest, at the base of a tall, gnarled oak, bigger around than even the wolf, it set him gently on his feet. He wobbled, disoriented, holding his head and trying to catch his breath. The wolf padded over to the tree, snuffling around the knobbly old roots—and pushed open a door. To Valentin’s total bewilderment, it nosed open a rough-hewn wooden door, ducked, and disappeared through the opening.

             As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Valentin could make out glimpses of worn bricks between the roots of the tree, even the small, round portals of windows peeking through the rough bark. All around him was impenetrable forest, only the tiniest trickle of moonlight struggling through the thick canopy.

             The glowing green eyes appeared in the doorway. The wolf let out a whine, pawing insistently at the threshold. Reluctantly, against his better judgement, Valentin went in.

             The tucked-away cabin was one round room, everything from the split-log rafters to the stone fireplace handmade. A fire was crackling, small but steady, the furnishings simple, sparse, but tidy. There were no dishes in the sink, no clothes scattered on the floor. It was pleasantly warm inside, comfortingly quiet after the cacophony in the woods. He closed the door behind him while the wolf slunk over to a neatly-made bed away from the windows, pawing at the coverlet and sitting on its haunches.

             Vaguely, Valentin looked around. “You...you want...up?” He wasn’t well-versed in wolf behavior, giant or otherwise.

             It nosed the covers, blue gingham comforter and clean white sheets, back from the pillows, tail thumping softly on the floorboards.

             “You want _me_ to…?”

             _Thump, thump._

             He glanced back at the woods through the tiny metal-framed window in the door, biting his lip. “I...shouldn’t go back out there, should I?”

             Its ears flattened, eyes narrowing at the window, black lips curling back from jagged teeth.

             Valentin sighed, going over to the bed. He took off his boots and coat, hanging the latter on the edge of the polished birch headboard, and slipped under the covers. The mattress shifted and bowed, the wolf climbing in and curling up in the empty space around him, resting its large head on the other pillow and softly closing its eyes. Valentin watched the windows, screeches and roars still ringing in his ears, ‘til the beast’s deep, rhythmic breathing lulled him to sleep.

- 

             He woke with the sunlight streaming through the cabin’s tiny windows, stretching under the sheets. In the light of day, with a few hours’ distance from his harrowing escape the night before, the odd little hut was almost charming. There were hand-crocheted curtains at every window, a row of tiny woodcarvings on the mantel, and, aside from the gigantic black wolf’s stone-splitting snores, it was quiet. In fact, the huge weight on the bed was still snoring, albeit more softly. Valentin rolled over to face it—and froze.

             In place of a wolf the size of a mountain was a man the size of a hill, unshaven, with tangled black hair and long, faded scars decorating the dusky brown skin of his chest, ribcage, biceps almost as big around as Valentin’s head. His eyes were deeply shadowed, huge hands dotted with worker’s callouses, and the smell of cold earth, wet leaves, and animal fur still clung to him; Valentin recognized a scar, an inverted-L-shape slashed through along the line of his cheekbone, from the muzzle of the monster wolf, and he wouldn’t have been much of a magician to forget the previous night’s full moon.

             Carefully, Valentin slid out from under the covers, the mattress barely shifting from his absence. The man didn’t stir, broad chest rising and falling with deep, rumbling snores. Valentin replaced the covers, stretching, scanning the hut for a vanity, a hand mirror, a door that might lead to a bathroom, but the wood-paneled walls were bare. There was an alcove to one side of the fireplace with a sink, a single-burner stove, and a small hutch with a few cans and bundles of vegetables on its shelves. A wooden charm carved into the shape of a bear hung on a green tassel in the window over the sink, and a purple-and-white-lace tablecloth covered a round, short-legged table in the middle of the single-room hut, the only decorations aside from the curtains. He didn’t see a closet, bureau, or even a repurposed armchair for clothes.

             Valentin made a face. His clothes were bunched and sweaty, his hair was a mess; it usually didn’t tangle much, but he’d left in the pins and bands that held his braids in place, now biting uncomfortably into his scalp, and the plaits that hadn’t fallen out completely were twisted at the root, smarting when he tried to run fingers through his hair. He stripped off the outer layers of his clothes, goldenrod-tweed waistcoat and bishop-sleeved shirt, shaking out the wrinkles and laying them flat on the small table. His thin white undershirt had come half-untucked in his sleep, and he pulled it the rest of the way free from his waistband, reaching up to ease the pins out of his bedhead one by one, shaking loose what remained of yesterday’s braids.

             Eight pins and four bands later, he ran each hand twice through his hair, in case he’d left one in for the teeth of a comb to catch, wrenching his hair, stinging, tearing out a patch of scalp—irrational as it was, he really regretted not taking the time to swallow his terror the night before and let his hair down properly. He couldn’t stand the dishevelment, the weight of the tangles pulling unevenly in all the wrong directions, the stress of the mess making his hands restless. He went back to the bed for the crème-leather folio in the inside pocket of his plum-colored coat, unbuttoning it for the comb and mirror inside, both polished copper with mother-of-pearl handles. Holding the mirror at a carefully-calculated angle, he let it hang in the air on a cloud of turquoise fog and worked the comb through the thick black knots with duets of measured strokes.

             He didn’t notice the snoring had stopped until the edge of the mirror caught a flash of brilliant green in the bed behind him, and he jumped, almost dropping the comb, the mirror circling him wildly to keep up when he whirled around.

             For a minute, they only stared at each other. With tremendous effort, the man had rolled to his side, one long arm falling limply over his chest, and he never met Valentin’s eyes for more than a split second. His breathing was labored, eyes darting around the hut warily, and while Valentin racked his brain for the appropriate morning greeting for a seven-foot werewolf one owed a life debt to, he tried, and failed, to lift his head from the pillow, thick muscle of his neck and shoulders straining and giving up with an exhausted tremor.

             “It’s alright,” Valentin found himself saying, sitting on the edge of the bed. The man didn’t look at him, the center of his chest caving weakly away. “You saved me last night, didn’t you?”

             He didn’t answer, staring down at the pillow. The tension in him was palpable, like a pulled-back branch, bark cracking under the strain.

             “Thank you for that.” Hastily, Valentin plucked his erratic mirror out of the air, tucking it and the comb away. Still no answer. Sliding off the bed, he took his coat and folio over to the table, remembering the countless times Canis had told him about eye contact and wild animals and feeling a little bad for thinking of it. “I’m Valentin,” he offered, suspending the mirror again so he could just see the bed while he worked, parting out locks on either side of his face and twisting in pins to hold them. The man let out a long sigh, and for a moment, he thought that was all he’d get.

             “…Muriel.”

             His voice was soft, deep like distant thunder, gravelly from exhaustion and likely, disuse.

             “Muriel.” Holding the comb in his mouth while he wove four small braids into one at the back of his head, Valentin mumbled, “Thank you.”

             There was a quiet grunt of acknowledgement from the bed, then a sharp intake of breath. In the mirror, Valentin saw him wince, struggling to get up from the mattress. Finishing his hair with pins, one tiny enamel almond-blossom for each thin black braid, two where they all wove together, Valentin watched him, the involuntary shudder of pain under his skin, the beads of sweat on his brow. He could hear the cracking of joints, stiff and complaining as Muriel nonetheless sat himself up against the honey-colored headboard, panting, head lolling back from the effort. Letting the mirror back down to the table, Valentin turned to face him. “Is there something I can get you?”

             “No.” Breathing hard, Muriel frowned at the blankets pooling around his ribs. One hand twitched as though to reach for them, but got no further. He sighed, a hint of red under the black stubble on his cheeks. “…Water.”

             Valentin found the cup—singular—in the kitchenette after a minute or two of searching, tucked under the hutch with a bowl, plate, pot, pan, and single cutlery set wrapped in a cloth napkin. Doubtful of his ability to budge the heavy, tarnished water pump, he coaxed water from the tap with a few sparks of turquoise instead, bringing it over to the bed. Muriel reached up to take it, hand trembling so badly Valentin kept his on the plain ceramic cup to steady it. A good amount spilled down his chest anyway, and he let out a frustrated huff.

             Without missing a beat, Valentin took a handkerchief from his hip pocket, ivory cotton with a yellow magnolia embroidered in two opposite corners, dabbing it over his chest. Muriel flinched away from his touch, pressing into the mattress. Valentin didn’t look up. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Draping the handkerchief over the headboard, he went back to the kitchenette, conjuring more water from the tap. “I’m sure you’re sore enough already. And you probably haven’t slept in three days.” This time, he kept control of the cup; pulling the blankets up over Muriel’s hands was enough of a barrier to keep them down.

             “You’re a magician.” He could feel green eyes on his cheek, studying him.

             “You’re a werewolf.” Muriel flinched, and Valentin rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t afraid of you last night, and now I’m pretty sure I can take you.”

             Muriel snorted. “Yes, you were.”

             “At first,” he admitted, setting the empty cup on the floor. The coverlet had slipped off Muriel’s lap, and he moved it back up, folding it neatly. “You know you’re the size of a house, right? But—” He hesitated, unfolding and folding the coverlet again and again to keep the echoes of unseen, screeching evil from rushing back. “Ultimately, I’m glad I ran into you.” Before he could stop it, his adjusting the covers, his clothes, the handkerchief folded over the headboard leaked into fixing the matted hair falling over Muriel’s face, and he recoiled, clenching and unclenching his fingers anxiously. “Oh, god—I’m sorry—”

             Muriel met his eyes for the first time intentionally, a worried crease between his dark brows. “It’s okay.” He glanced at Valentin’s hands, still opening and closing compulsively in his lap. “…Go ahead.”

             With a sigh of relief, Valentin reached for him, gently brushing coal-black tangles back from his eyes. “I’m…still a little shaken from last night,” he admitted, fingertips lingering on Muriel’s jaw. “I—” Swallowing, letting his breath out slowly, he pulled away, snagging the handkerchief from the headboard to fold in his lap with strenuous precision. “…Sorry.”

             “You…fix things.” Shifting against the pillow, Muriel watched his hands.

             Valentin nodded, tracing an embroidered magnolia over and over again with two fingers.

             He didn’t say anything more, closing his eyes. There was a long silence, then stillness as Valentin relinquished the handkerchief, tapping couplets into his own wrist until his head cleared, too embarrassed to do much more than stare at the mattress. The bed itself was huge, only slightly bowed under Muriel’s weight, and he just barely fit in it top to tail—pun certainly not intended. He seemed to have relaxed, if only marginally, the tendons in his neck still rising to the surface every so often, aching muscles tensing and shivering from the effort of laying on top of one another.

             Valentin couldn’t imagine the strain he was under. The magic of werewolves was well-documented, relatively speaking. Asra’s collection had whole books on the stipulations of the curse, the weaknesses of the creature, centuries’ worth of sightings, but there was no practical literature on the quotidian werewolf, no Care and Keeping manual for the unfortunate but well-intentioned lycanthrope looking to plan ahead, not even a margin note on the havoc three nights’ transformations wreaked on the human body.

             Luckily, from years of compulsive practice, Valentin had good instincts about fixing things. Comfort wasn’t his milieu—he had more leather gloves than kid, more blunt advice than honeyed words. He didn’t even really have the voice for soothing, husky and frank with none of Asra’s gentle intimacy or Canis’ inimitable sweetness. He wasn’t built to quiet voices or banish demons, but he’d never met a tear he couldn’t mend, a break he couldn’t sand over good as new.

             “Are you hungry?”

             Muriel only looked at him, confused. He slid off the bed, stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. “I’m not much of a healer, but I _am_ a good cook, and I’m sure you’ve burned through just about everything in your body.”

             Grumbling, Muriel scowled down at the blankets. “You don’t have to stay.”

             “Actually, I do.” Brusquely, Valentin went back to the kitchenette, surveying the sparse pantry. “I don’t know where I am, and I’m not in the mood to get lost in the woods again anytime soon—especially because the next full moon is weeks away,” he added with a pointed glance at the bed. Muriel shrank, though only figuratively, under the sheets. Collecting ingredients in the single, well-loved pot, Valentin cleared a space on the table, under the lace tablecloth. “So you’re stuck with me ‘til you can walk me back to town.”

             Reddening, Muriel looked away, mumbling, “That might be awhile.”

             Valentin shrugged, tucking his undershirt into the high umber waistband of his trousers. “I’m patient.”


	4. Doctor Know-All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canis’ adventures in the forest leave marks, but luckily, the Doctor is in.

             The exertion of hiking through a mile of woods with one less pint of blood had left Canis too exhausted to climb the ladder to the queen bed lofted over the rest of the small house stuffed with the books, tools, and combined wardrobes of three magicians. It took everything he had left to collapse onto the overstuffed violet cushion of the papasan chair, curl up in his cloak, and kick off one boot before he fell unconscious, head swimming with glowing red eyes and flashing white teeth. He awoke with a sore neck and stiff knees at the crack of dawn, wobbled into the bathroom to wipe off his makeup, and dragged himself up the ladder to the left.

             From the size of the softly-breathing blanket heap on the bed, Valentin still hadn’t come home. Canis slipped into his silky, shimmery-star pajamas, burrowing under the covers, where Asra seemed to have trapped the body heat of three magicians all by himself. Yawning, Canis snuggled up to him, kissing his soft white curls, and let the warmth lull him back to sleep.

 -

             Back in the woods, the skeletal white birch trunks curved high, high overhead. Boughs of silvery, waxy leaves blotted out the moon, if there was one. Canis moved through the brush, the smell of damp earth and rot like a thick fog. He took a step, and the ground gave way, crumbling into chunks of dirt and gnarled roots, dark liquid bubbling up from beneath. The smell pierced the cold air, hot, salty, and metallic, and a river swelled to life, roiling currents of blood.

             A guttural roar rumbled the earth under him, stirred the river into waves of froth. The river burst its banks. He turned and ran. The flood surged on either side of him, branches and brambles whipping his face. The ground fell away to mud under his feet, sticky and warm. The cold air pricked the needles in his lungs, and he ran.

             He broke into a clearing, grey, cracked dirt with patches of dry, colorless grass. The trees stuck up all around like white spears, dead branches grasping at a bloodred sky. Pinpricks of light winked between the trunks, sickly yellow and evil red, and a cold wind rushed through the stale air with a shrieking call, chattering like a laugh, peeling the birch bark back in thick papery curls.

             In the center of the clearing, a hulking black shape lay still. Canis approached it, and the shrieking cut off abruptly, the chittering of teeth and crunching of bone swarming in to take its place. The black thing loomed over him under the firelight of a full, yellow moon, its shadow pitch-dark. He touched its side, matted fur resisting his touch, and his hand came away sticky and black.

             Canis went around its side, watching the huge ribcage heave one long, shuddering breath. The crunching, smacking, slurping crescendoed as he did; a pale shape with sharp spiral horns was hunched over the beast’s belly, digging into long white ribs with flashes of brilliant gold. Streams of dark blood ran down from the gaping wound, soaking into the thirsty grey soil. Red eyes winked open and closed all around the fallen beast, bobbing in the air like lightning bugs. Claws glinting in the yellow light reared back, carving chunks of viscera off a colossal rib.

             Canis opened his mouth to call out, choking on sharp spines instead. Another roar opened deep furrows in the hollow ground, felling distant trees with tremorous force, and he coughed up a mass of blue-black feathers, some longer than his forearm, stiff plumes cleaving the inside of his throat. The pale thing burst like a bubble into thousands of foul-smelling, greyish worms, wriggling into the black beast’s hide, and the huge head lifted, vicious jaws opening to toothless black gums as it cried out croakingly in pain.

-

             “Canis?”

 -

             He sat bolt upright, blankets clinging to him in a sweaty tangle, gasping for breath. Wide-eyed, Asra reached for him, but he tore out of bed, sliding down the ladder without touching a rung and collapsing in the bathroom, heaving violently over the sink. For a moment, his throat only worked against itself, and when he did throw up, it was only stomach acid, angry yellow and burning his mouth.

             He heard the strike of a match in the kitchen, and Asra peeked in a moment later with eddies of gingery smoke, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Bad dream?”

             Panting, Canis nodded, spitting miserably into the cut-quartz basin. “Bad.” He took a deep breath, the spicy, cool smoke settling his nervous stomach, and nuzzled into his Asra’s hand, folding into his chest.

             “It’s okay.” Draping a soft, sea-blue scarf around his shoulders, Asra kissed his forehead. “It can’t hurt you now.”

             “I didn’t find Valentin,” he mumbled.

             “I’m just glad you made it home.” Swaddling him in the scarf, Asra brought him into the living room, the sink rinsing itself behind them. “You really should’ve asked me to go with you.”

             Bundling up on the low, patchwork sofa, Canis shrugged. “So come with me tonight.”

             “You’re a magician,” Asra countered, floating over the flower-patterned teapot and cups that didn’t remotely match it. “You can’t think of a better way to find someone than wandering through the forest?”

             Canis frowned. “I usually leave the divination to you.”

             “I tried scrying for him while you were out, but nothing came up.” His causal tone was forced, his hand a little too tight on the teapot as he poured. “But between the two of us, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

             Watching him, Canis took a cup, eggshell white with painted pink sweet-peas. “What do you mean, ‘nothing came up’? The spell fizzled?”

             “No.” Cuddling up to him on the couch, Asra pulled a heavy knit blanket over them. The weight, both of the blanket and Asra pressing into his side, calmed the fluttering of Canis’ heartbeat, and his breath came a little easier with the herbal steam warming his face. “The spell worked, but the water didn’t show anything.” Laying his head on Canis’ shoulder, Asra traced idly over the back of his free hand. “It just went grey and cloudy until I gave up.”

             Canis hesitated, sick feeling creeping back up his throat. “That…doesn’t sound good.”

             “Like I said.” With an encouraging smile, Asra tucked a lock of chocolate-brown bedhead behind his ear. “Between the—” His eyes landed on Canis’ neck, and he frowned. “…What is that?”

             “What?” Curiously, Canis felt over the crook of his shoulder, still sore from demonic teeth tearing rapaciously into the muscle. When his fingers brushed just where he’d been bitten, the skin tingled electrically, still warm to the touch. Avoiding Asra’s worried violet eyes, he went back to the bathroom, holding away the collar of his pajamas to inspect it.

             The bite had changed overnight. Still angry red and swollen around the imprints of each deadly, sharp tooth, it was more uniform, no longer jagged and sloppy, the impressions of Lucio’s teeth forming a neat circle of even, round punctures. In the center, where he’d licked up Canis’ blood with hungry strokes, was a bright red bruise in the shape of a perfect, four-pointed star. Canis ran his fingers over the strange new mark, cheeks flushing from the memory of his back pressing into the ground, the bruising force of black fingers around his wrist, the other so disarmingly gentle in his hair, Lucio’s helpless moans thrumming in his chest as he fed.

             “Canis?” Asra’s eyes were on him in the mirror, tracing the pink blush under the freckles splashed over his cheeks, and there was something uncharacteristically hard about them. “What is it?”

             Canis swallowed, smoothing his collar back in place over the bite. “…I don’t know.” Working a brush through his tangled hair, he shrugged. “I must’ve been stung by something in the woods.”

             Asra stared him down, coldly unconvinced, and Canis held his gaze calmly, daring him to ask, if he really wanted to know. After a minute, Asra broke away, flippant again, lacing his arms around Canis’ waist and kissing his—unmarked—shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

             “It’s a little sore,” Canis admitted, not looking at him. “But so is the rest of me, honestly.”

             “Mm.” Smoothing the sleeves of his pajamas, Asra went back to the kitchen. “You ought to see the doctor about it, just in case.” Rustling absently through the mess of books and potion ingredients, he added, “A bite that big might’ve left something nasty behind. You don’t want to take chances.”

 -

             Briefly, Canis had considered _not_ seeing the doctor—after all, he’d already lied about his demon-bite, and indeed his intentions for his most recent trip to the forest. Though now, he was regretting trusting Asra’s divination to bring Valentin safely home while he baited hungry demons with borrowed dogs out of base curiosity, and between that guilt and the nagging fear of unknown, infernal infection, he got dressed for a quick jaunt to the doctor’s office, a few blocks of white-cobbled streets to the south.

             Most locals brought minor ailments and injuries to his, Asra’s, and Valentin’s door, which was lucky, because the dilapidated green two-story just off the city center was empty more often than it was inhabited. The caduceus painted on a hanging sign over the door, for instance, had been hanging by one chain as long as Canis could remember, and the front porch had a pronounced westward lean that made an alarming number of empty liquor bottles roll into a pile at one end. Lately, though, the peeling front door had been a revolving one, the dusty windows alight at all hours. Distressed citizens showed up at the shop with polite referrals in virtually-illegible handwriting identifying headaches, stomach troubles, and more as stress responses to the rash of animal mutilations and missing forestgoers, and Asra had been able to send patients with genuine medical ailments in return—usually fainting spells and the occasional gangrenous toe—with a letter in purple ink and a basket of Valentin’s cranberry muffins. It was unusual, then, when Canis went in, the faded green door bumping a tiny brass bell to announce his arrival, to find the front room empty.

             Cluttered shelves lined the back wall floor-to-ceiling, full of glass jars and burlap bags of powders, dried herbs, colored glass bottles labeled in faded ink and peeling paper, racks of gleaming silver instruments with the scary ends wrapped in black leather. A leather-topped table occupied one half of the room, hinged in the middle to prop patients up as needed, an empty tray-stand leaning against the side. On the other side, sprawling glassware on a long, granite counter made an L-shaped laboratory, murky colorless liquids sitting in a few beakers over cold burners.

             “Hello?” Canis called, closing the door behind him.

             “Hello,” said a deep, croaky voice behind him, making him jump. On a rickety wooden perch behind the door, a large raven peered at him with one beady black eye.

             “Oh!” Canis giggled, holding out a hand for it to inspect. “I wasn’t expecting you, sweetie.”

             The raven tapped at his fingers with its curved black beak, turning its head curiously. Gently, Canis stroked the ruff of blue-black feathers on the underside of its neck, and it blinked happily, stepping in place on the perch. “Hello,” he prompted.

             “Hello,” the raven responded, mimicking his tone in a higher chirp.

             “Such a smart baby,” Canis cooed, running his fingers through the iridescent feathers along its back. The raven lifted its wings slightly, letting out a burbly little pigeon-coo. Canis laughed again. “Oh, so talented…I don’t suppose you could give me a checkup?”

             “His bedside manner’s terrific,” an unfamiliar voice said behind him, low and mild. “But I wouldn’t take anything he prescribes.”

             Canis turned. A door tucked between the shelves whispered shut behind the doctor, a tall man hastily changing out a black frock coat for a white laboratory smock. Dark red curls fell messily to one side of his face, only a touch browner than the horsecollar cravat around his high white collar, and the hem of a cardigan the same garnet-red poked out from under the neck of his black waistcoat. His eyes and the bags under them were dark, gunmetal-grey, and the rest of him was pale, lanky, with sharp features and a hooked nose.

             Giving the raven one last pat, Canis smiled. “You must be Doctor Devorak.”

             “Please, call me Julian.” He held out one leather-gloved hand to shake. “I see you’ve already met my lovely assistant.”

             “He was _very_ welcoming,” Canis assured him, shaking his hand. On the perch, the raven fluffed up proudly, letting out a _grrk_ and bobbing his head in Canis’ direction.

             “Malak, no.” Crossing his arms, Julian gave the raven a stern look. “Sometimes people come here to see _me_ , you know.”

             “Oh, do we need more pets?” Canis teased, pulling up his mint-green sleeve and offering the raven his arm. Turning up his beak at the doctor, Malak stepped off the perch onto the sleeve, sharp black talons catching the transparent fabric.

             “He likes you.” Scratching under Malak’s chin affectionately, Julian smiled. “He doesn’t warm up to most people.”

             “I’m something of a rogue veterinarian.” Canis scritched the back of Malak’s ruff with his gold-tipped nails. “When I’m not at the shop, I help people with their pets, livestock…sometimes training, sometimes healing, and I’ve done my fair share of birthing—” He caught himself before the rambling gathered real momentum, clearing his throat. “…I’m good with animals.” Willing himself unsuccessfully not to turn bright red from embarrassment, he added, “I’m Canis, by the way.”

             Julian grinned. “Major or Minor?”

             “M—” Canis giggled, covering his mouth, and cocked one eyebrow mischievously. “Well, since I’m the only one in town, I guess I’d be Major.”

             “Ah, yes.” Julian went around to the lab bench, tossing his frock coat over a wooden stool. “From Asra’s little coterie, up the road.”

             “Mm, we’re more of a coven.” Setting Malak back on his perch, Canis went over to the exam table, hopping up on the worn leather cushion.

             Flipping open a ragged datebook, Julian scribbled something down with a blue-black quill. “And what can I do for you, Canis Major?”

             Undoing the ribbon of his halter top, he slid his shoulder free of the pale green gauze, tilting his head. “I picked up some kind of bite in the woods—Asra thought you should have a look with it.”

             “Hmm.” Bringing over the quill and a ratty journal, Julian peered at the bite, sketching it in the yellowed pages. “Didn’t happen to see what left it, did you?”

             Canis looked innocently up at the ceiling, picking idly at the leather tabletop. “Nope.”

             “Dear god.” Holding a caliper over the bite, Julian blinked at it in disbelief. “Did you _feel_ it?”

             Canis wasn’t sure which was less plausible, that he had, but hadn’t managed catch sight of the biter, or that a bite the size of a pomegranate had appeared completely unnoticed. He made a choice. “I did, but whatever it was moved too fast. I didn’t even hear it approach.”

             “Well, it doesn’t seem to have broken the skin.” Julian took a few covered instruments off the wall, swirling them in a blue glass jar of sickly-sweet antiseptic and laying them on a tray. “Or if it did, it was shallow enough to close up fast.” Bringing the tray over to the table, he touched the bite with two fingers, giving a few light pushes. “Does that hurt?”

             More accurately, it throbbed, the surface prickling while the tooth imprints smarted deep down. Canis winced. “A little.”

             “I don’t see any signs of infection, but I’d like to give it a good cleaning, just in case.” Dunking a wad of cotton at the end of a wooden stick into the antiseptic, Julian let the excess drip back into the blue jar while he laid out a few thin glass slides. “I also want to take a few scrapings, especially of that—” He pointed to the star-shaped bruise. “—to check for pathogens. Is that alright?”

             Canis nodded. The antiseptic was just to the left of too cold on the still-warm mark, and he winced at the scraping, the flat metal head of a probe wicking off small flakes of reddish skin from the tooth-impressions.

             Julian winced right along with him, one gentle hand on his shoulder holding the skin taut while he worked. “I’m sorry. I wish this were one of the fun procedures, where you get wacky ether-dreams and I do all the work, but look on the bright side.” Glancing up, he grinned impishly. “At least you’ll go home with all your limbs today.”

             Canis’ eyebrows shot up in exaggerated horror. “Should I have been worried about that?”

             “I do a lot of amputations.” He paused. “Recreationally, I mean. I’m not actually a surgeon.”

             Canis yelped, batting him away playfully just as he finished. “Do you always instill this much confidence in your patients?”

             “What can I say?” Spreading pinkish, rose-scented balm over the bite, Julian folded a patch of cotton into a dressing. “I put the fun in ‘femoral tourniquet’.” Canis started to protest, and he added, “Don’t worry, it’s in there.”

             Canis rolled his eyes. Julian placed the dressing over his bite, guiding his hand up to it, and he held it firmly in place, the soft cotton sticking to the sweet-smelling balm, which had already soothed the stinging from the scraped-off layers, though his mark still tingled at the slightest pressure. Measuring out a length of bandage, Julian gestured to the other side of his halter-neck top, still hanging off his shoulder demurely.

             “Do you—ahem—do you mind—ah—” he stammered, reddening almost down to his collar. Sheepishly, he held up the bandage. “So I can…?”

             “Hm?—oh.” Coyly, Canis wiggled his other shoulder free, light green gauze falling down around his waist. The ribbon of the halter-neck bumped the gold coins dangling from the rings in his nipples with a tiny jingle. “By all means, Doctor,” he teased.

             Clearing his throat, Julian tied the bandage securely around the base of his neck, pausing to let Canis free his hand before tying a quick knot to anchor the dressing. “You, uh—hah.” He tried again, running one gloved hand through his unruly hair. “Just to keep the dirt out of the scrapings. You shouldn’t need to keep it on long—I’d take it off before bed. That is—” He grimaced, covering his eyes. “ _You_ can take it off. Before you go to sleep.” With a long sigh, he shook himself. “Forgive me. It’s been a long day.”

             Canis laughed, pulling his shirt back up and tying the ribbon-collar in a neat bow. “It’s alright. Thank you for taking a look.”

             Julian nodded, retreating to his lab bench with the tray of samples. “If I find anything alarming, I’ll send a note to the shop; if there’s any more pain, discharge, discoloration, anything scary, come back in as soon as you can. Otherwise, I’ll see you in a week for a follow-up.”

             Hopping off the exam table, Canis was greeted by a flurry of feathers. Malak fluttered over to take his place on the leather cushion, hopping toward him expectantly. “You are shameless,” Canis informed him, stroking his head. The raven made a sound like a bubbling beaker, closing his tiny black eyes. Glancing back at the lab bench, Canis asked, “What do I owe you?”

             Julian shook his head, waving dismissively. “You and the other two Wyrd Sisters have done so much already. It’s nothing.”

             “It’s your livelihood,” Canis corrected, scooping Malak up like a baby to scratch his belly. The raven’s taloned feet opened and closed like a cat kneading the air. “At least let us bake you a cake or something.”

             Sighing, Julian leaned back against the shelves and crossed his arms. “…How about drinks?” He raised one auburn brow, grinning provocatively. “I’d love to get to know the plucky young magicians who’ve saved half the city from nervous breakdowns in these trying times.”

             Canis pretended to think it over, easing Malak back onto his feet on the table. “…Will your bird be there?”

             Julian laughed. “I’ll clear his schedule.”


	5. The Juniper Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because he had so much fun the first time, Canis makes another deal with his favorite demon.

            “Lucio?” Flashing the hooded lantern over the bush lining the path, Canis frowned. He’d circled the clearing where he’d cast the salt circle twice, checked the bloodberry patch, and paced up and down both banks of the river, nearly taking a _very_ unwanted dip in the frigid meltwater currents, and hadn’t found a sign of him—not that he had much experience tracking demons. More than once, he’d wondered what he might be looking for, in terms of a lair—a cave? a nest? some sort of pit, like a trapdoor spider?

            “Lucio!” The forest wasn’t any quieter than other nights, but it was considerably calmer. Canis didn’t feel nearly as many strange, hungry eyes on him as on his other walks, nor did he get the prickling feeling on the back of his neck when he turned his back on the treeline. “Lu—”

            “Shh!”

            The strident hiss came from just over his shoulder, and Canis nearly dropped the lantern. Leaning between two papery trunks, Lucio scowled at him, disapproving eyes burning through the weak moonlight. “I’m not the only thing out here, you know.”

            Canis lowered the hood on the lantern, setting it down. “I figured you’d find me first. And I was right.”

            “Not something you should gamble on.” Drawing idle tallies in the birch-bark with his claws, Lucio cocked one switchback brow. “Why do you want _me_ to find you so badly?”

            “Because I want more answers,” Canis retorted, hands on his hips. “And _you_ want more blood.”

            Lucio perked up at the mention, licking his lips and moving tentatively out of the trees. “Make me an offer.”

            “My housemate went missing two nights ago.” Reaching into the folds of his starry cloak, Canis took out a bundled-up scarf, deep marmalade silk with silvery-blue paisleys. “I want you to track him down.”

            “Ugh.” Turning up his nose, Lucio made a face. “What am I, your errand boy?”

            “You’re a hunter.” The word was predator, but Canis didn’t want to use it. “You have to have a sharp nose.”

            “Sharp enough I could pick you out of an orchestra with my eyes closed.” He sniffed. “But I’m not a bloodhound.”

            Shrugging, Canis tucked the scarf back into his pocket. “If you can’t do it, I can think of more questions.”

            Lucio rolled his eyes, picking at his black claws. “I didn’t _say_ I couldn’t do it. But if you think I’m gonna lead you around the forest like some mutt on a leash—”

            “Alright then.” Turning back to the path, Canis gave him a wave over his shoulder. “Have fun sneaking into town to suck on someone’s poodle.”

            “No—hey!” Sprinting to head him off, Lucio snatched the scarf from his pocket. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.” He caught sight of Canis’ neck and frowned. “You covered up my bite.”

            “I had to go to a doctor.” Yanking the scarf back, Canis scowled. “To make sure you didn’t give me some awful demonic infection.”

            “Doesn’t work like that.” Lucio pouted. “I could’ve told you that.”

            “The doctor did it for free.” Untying his bandage tantalizingly, Canis held the scarf close to his chest, showing off the mark, still pink and raised. “You take me to Valentin, and I’ll let you take another pint.”

            “Done.” Eyes locked on the ring of tooth-marks, Lucio grabbed him roughly by the waist, running his tongue over his jagged teeth.

            “Ah-ah—” Covering the bite with one hand, holding back a shiver from the way it pulsed, Canis stuffed the scarf into his salivating jaws, pushing him away. “You get your meal _after_ I get my friend home. Not before.” He didn’t relish the thought of lying dizzy on the forest floor while Lucio ran off on a trail.

            Growling, Lucio spat the scarf into one hand, wiping his mouth. “…Fine.”

 -

            Canis’ legs ached from hiking through increasingly dense underbrush, and if he heard Lucio complain one more time about how slowly they were moving, he was going to snap off his horns like curly black carrots. His legs moved robotically, plodding forward, so that when they finally stopped, he almost ran face-first into Lucio’s back before the message made the trip down from his brain.

            “Easy.” Catching Canis under the arms just as he started to sway from exhaustion, Lucio held him upright, one arm around his waist, the other across his shoulders, cupping the back of his head. “You should’ve asked for a lift.”

            “Aw,” Canis panted, grabbing his bicep for support while he got his legs under him again. “You would’ve carried me?”

            Tracing one claw over the back of his neck, Lucio smirked. “Sure. For the right price.”

            “Ugh.” Shoving away from him, Canis brushed the dead leaves and other forest detritus from his leggings, bending down to retie his boots. “Are we close?”

            “Dead ahead, through those trees, hundred yards.” He pointed. “Have fun.”

            “What, do the last hundred yards cost extra?” Frowning, Canis squinted through the trees, more old, knotted oaks than birch, now, but the forest beyond was all darkness.

            “No, you couldn’t pay me to keep going.” Sharpening his claws on the greying bark of a gnarled oak, Lucio shook his head. “That’s where the wolf lives, and it’s not my biggest fan.”

            Canis crossed his arms. “One wolf? Not even a pack?”

            “It doesn’t _need_ a pack,” Lucio snapped. “It’s huge. It’s territorial, and I don’t wanna piss it off.”

            “Oh, but you don’t mind if I do.” Rolling his eyes, Canis stretched, rubbing his legs to wake them up, and started through the trees.

            “Animals like you!” Lucio called after him sotto voce. “You’ll be fine.”

-

            There was a knock at the door. Valentin barely had a second to register it before Muriel sat bolt upright, nearly rolling him out of bed, wary eyes searching the cabin’s windows, nostrils flaring instinctively. Groggily, Valentin sat up, combing through his hair with one hand and straightening the covers with the other. Muffled by the rough-cut wood, a chirpy tenor called, “Valentin?”

            “Canis?” he mumbled, still raspy with sleep, sliding out of bed. Muriel made a strained noise, reaching for his hand. Yawning, he shook his head. “It’s okay.” Catching his hand, he kneaded Muriel’s palm with his thumbs until he relented, easing back down onto the mattress. “He’s a friend.”

            Relaxing marginally under the gentle pressure, Muriel kept one suspicious eye on the door. “…Make sure it’s him.”

            Pulling his trousers and boots on quickly, Valentin went to the door, glancing through the tiny window. Nervously wrapped in a sparkly-patterned cloak with a fluffy white lining, Canis huddled close to the door, wide golden eyes darting back to the treeline in regular intervals. Stifling another yawn, Valentin opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

            “What are _you_ doing here?” Canis shot back, looking him over worriedly. His gold-brocade boots and soft green leggings were dusty, twigs and leaves clinging to the seams. “You’ve been gone for three days.”

            “I’m fine. I got lost, I ended up here, and I didn’t know how to get home…” He sighed, pulling the door tight behind him as Canis craned his neck to peek into the hut. “I figured it was better to stay put than risk getting lost again.”

            “How long were you planning to ‘stay put’?” Canis frowned, hands on his hips. “You couldn’t have tried sending a message? Astral projection? _Some_ thing to tell us you were alive?”

            “Muriel would have walked me home in another day or two,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

            “Who the hell is Muriel?”

            Behind him, Valentin felt Muriel shrink into the bed. “…He lives here.”

            Canis raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Valentin didn’t give him anymore. With a huff, he reached for Valentin’s hand. “Well, I _do_ know how to get home, so we’re leaving.”

            “Be right out.” Pulling out of his reach, Valentin shut the door.

            “Hey!” Canis knocked again, but there was no answer, and the door wouldn’t budge. Glancing back at the trees, where Lucio’s brilliant red eyes watched him from the low branches, he sighed, motioning for him to come out.

            Lucio shook his head. With a huff, Canis stomped over to the treeline. “I don’t think there’s a wolf.”

            “Not worth the risk.” Stubbornly, he crossed his arms. “Once I get a bite, I’m gone.”

            “There’s no way I’m risking Valentin seeing _that_.” Turning away from him, Canis flounced back to the door.

            Lucio made as if to follow him, but balked at the treeline, whining, “Canis…”

            “Just tail us back to town.” He didn’t look back, inspecting his nails and fluffing his hair while he waited for Valentin to return.

            Quickly, Valentin got dressed, twisting his hair into one long braid coiled into a neat bun. Packing his few belongings into the pockets of his plum-wool coat, he sat on the edge of the bed, tucking the covers around Muriel’s chest. “I have to go. Will you be alright?”

            “I’m fine.” Still wound tight with anxiety, Muriel didn’t take his eyes off the door.

            “I know how much you like your total solitude,” he teased, gently turning Muriel’s face toward him, “but I can come check on you in a few days. I know you’ve done this without me before, but…”

            Looking down at the mattress, Muriel mumbled, “If you want.”

            “I do.”

            Slowly, tentatively, he leaned in, pressing his face into Valentin’s chest. Holding his head, Valentin stroked his hair, the thick tangles he’d meticulously combed silky-smooth, and ran one hand softly over the solid, scarred muscle of his back. Muriel’s arms wrapped loosely around his waist. Valentin kissed the top of his head, and it took more willpower than he’d expected to pull away, slip into his coat, and go to the door.

            Canis was uncharacteristically quiet for the first minute or so of their walk, waiting for him to explain. Since Valentin didn’t want to, he eyed the bandage tied over a clump of dressing at the base of Canis’ neck. “What happened to you?”

            “I could ask you the same thing!” Canis gave him a withering look. “I can’t believe you’ve just been hanging out at some stranger’s cabin for three days. Asra and I were worried _sick_.”

            “I’m sorry.” Valentin sighed. “I should’ve sent word.”

            “Yes, you should’ve.” Hurt, Canis looked out at the trees. Fast enough to be a trick of the light, a flash of gold darted between the shadowy trunks. “And this ‘Muriel’ is…?”

            Valentin winced. “…a werewolf.”

            “ _Valentin_.” Jaw dropping, Canis stared at him. “How—”

            “I got lost three nights ago, and—Canis, there’s something horrible out here.” The shrieking echoing in his head made his skin crawl. Valentin shuddered. “It’s no wonder people haven’t been coming back. I don’t know if I would’ve, if Muriel hadn’t saved me.”

            “He couldn’t have whisked you a little closer to home?” Canis quipped.

            “He was a giant wolf at the time. His logic wasn’t airtight.”

            Shaking his head in disbelief, Canis was quiet for a minute. “Why’d he want to wait so long to bring you home?”

            “He needs time to recover from the full moon.” Valentin bit his lip, remembering Muriel’s first few, weakened hours, struggling to hold up his head.

            “So you’ve been in the woods, in a secret hut, nursing a werewolf back to health?” Canis counted off on his fingers, unsure which was the most unbelievable. The werewolf was admittedly a frontrunner, but Valentin wouldn’t even walk a side street that looked too muddy, so his lasting three days in the woods was nothing short of impressive.

            “Cross my heart. Now will you tell me what happened to your neck?” Cocking an eyebrow, Valentin plucked his paisley scarf from the folds of Canis’ cloak. “Or why you’re carrying my scarf around?”

            “Oh—I used it to find you.” Canis shrugged. “I was able to pick up a trail from traces of your aura.”

            “Just from my scarf?” Valentin frowned. “Don’t you usually need some kind of heirloom, or magical focus?”

            Lucio’s eyes prickled on the back of Canis’ neck, though he couldn’t imagine why. He swallowed, smoothing out the glittering constellations on his cloak. “...Why do you think it took so long?”


	6. The Willful Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canis gives blood and goes on a date, and neither really goes as planned. (extra warning for spice)

            While Asra buried his face in Valentin’s shoulder, simultaneously rejoicing his return and scolding him for his disappearance, Canis slipped out the back door of the house-shop, following the narrow, pink-granite path to the well. As expected, Lucio was perched impatiently on the stones, batting absently at the tin bucket hanging over the water, golden knuckles _ping_ ing off the side.

            “If I didn’t know any better,” he said, black claws clicking impatiently on the rim of the well, “I’d think you were ashamed of me.”

            “Do you really want two powerful magicians on your ass for taking bites out of their housemate?” Canis asked, sitting on the edge of the well.

            Lucio pretended to think about it. “How powerful are we talking?”

            “You think the wolf is scary, you should see Asra and Valentin angry.” Undoing his bandage and dressing, Canis folded them in his lap. “Asra has a thing about contracts with otherworldly creatures, in that you don’t make them, ever, and Valentin’ll just pull your teeth out one by one and put them on a necklace.” He shrugged.

            Lucio’s hand flew protectively to his mouth, lip curling in disgust. “They sound great.”

            “They’re my best friends.” With a cheeky grin, Canis tilted his head, showing off his bite. “Well, go ahead. You earned it.”

            Springing up from the well, Lucio scooped him up like a rag doll, laying him in the grass and straddling his hips. “So you don’t fall backward on me,” he told Canis’ quizzical expression, gripping the back of his head with one firm hand. “I need an angle where you won’t crack your head open.” Leaning down to Canis’ shoulder, he took a deep inhale, cracking his neck and baring his teeth. “Better be quiet this time, unless you want your friends to come running.”

            “Maybe you should gag me,” Canis teased, blood starting to pound in his ears.

            Lucio laughed, lips moving against the underside of his jaw. “Not my style.” His hold tightened around Canis’ nape, the claws of his other hand carving into the dirt, and he bit into the tender pink mark, teeth fitting into the day-old imprints like keys in a lock, spine curving with a long moan as the blood washed into his mouth. This time, Canis saw spots almost immediately, writhing and pawing at Lucio’s back, until one hand found purchase in his hair, grabbing a handful of platinum blonde for dear life. Lucio growled into his neck, claws pricking his scalp, the force of his jaws alone lifting Canis off the ground as he drank. He broke away shuddering, laying Canis down neatly in a dizzy heap. A charcoal-colored thumb ran over the bite, sealing the wound, and Canis lay still, his cheeks and chest flushed deep red as his gold-dusted eyelids fluttered, watching Lucio lick himself clean, pale skin smeared with blood, the front of his shirt soaked through.

            In his haze, Canis giggled. “So messy.”

            “Can’t let any of it go to waste,” Lucio panted, stripping off his shirt to wipe the saliva from his face. In the dim light, the burnt-looking patches peppering his ribs and stomach were like holes in a fallen log. “Don’t know when you’re gonna cut me off and send me running back to house pets.”

            Curiously, Canis propped himself up on his elbows. “Cut you off?”

            “Eventually you’ll run out of questions.” With a shrug, Lucio pulled his shirt back on. “I am fascinating, so it’ll take a while, but in any case, I’m enjoying it while it lasts.”

            “Do you…” Canis sat up, studying him. “Why don’t you attack humans more often? You obviously have more of a taste for me than the baker’s dog.”

            Lucio snorted. “Do you _want_ me to hunt more humans? Because around here, there’s more competition for that than I usually like.”

            “I’m curious. Like you said.” Dramatically, Canis batted his lashes. “You’re _fascinating_.”

            A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he looked away. “We didn’t negotiate any questions tonight.”

            “Well, I’m sorry.” Canis pulled himself to his feet. “But that’s all the blood you’re getting.”

            “Great. See ya.” Pushing off the well, Lucio disappeared; with no trees to meld into, he simply folded into the shadows between buildings and was gone.

            Later, lying in bed, Canis stared up at the ceiling, listening to Asra’s soft snores, muffled by his wrapping around Valentin like a scarf. The bite burned in waves, tingling under the new dressing. The claws in his hair hadn’t broken the skin, but he could still feel them, and the feverish heat of Lucio’s body pinning him to the ground, sharp angles and athletic muscle pressing into him with deep, hungry moans. Shivering, Canis curled around a pillow, the smell of sweet incense and metal still clinging to his hair, thinking about how carefully Lucio laid him down, the gentle brush of his fingers closing over the wound. He hadn’t been a stranger to mixing pleasure and pain for a long time, and despite the obvious warning signs of cavorting with a strange, bloodthirsty creature he’d found in the woods, if all he had to do to learn about an otherwise unfathomable beast was let himself be pinned down with feral desire from time to time, well, he could manage that.

 -

            “I’m sorry about Asra.” Slipping out of the booth, Canis followed Julian to the bar. “He’s been on edge since Valentin’s been missing, and I don’t think he’s come down yet.”

            “Asra and I have a fair amount of history.” Julian shrugged, catching the bartender’s eye and leaning back against the bar. “I’m used to him being a little hot and cold.”

            “Still.” Hopping up on a barstool, Canis rolled his eyes. “Thank you for inviting us out, on behalf of all three of us.”

            “Ah, don’t thank me.” Accepting a tray from the bartender, Julian downed a shot of brown liquor, clearing his throat. “Remember, you’re buying my drinks tonight.” Swiping a cherry from the other side of the bar, he dropped it into Canis’ bright red martini, handing it over with a grin. “This might be the most expensive consult I’ve ever done.”

            Canis giggled, throwing back half his drink in one go. “You think I didn’t see right through that?” Stealing the tray, he went back to the booth, glancing coyly over his shoulder, Julian trailing behind him. “For every drink I buy you, Doctor, _you_ owe me a dance.” He nodded to the quartet tuning on the other end of the bar, a small parquet floor before a cramped stage scratched up from rugs previously cut.

            “Oho, you think that’ll slow me down?” As the quartet started to play, Julian whipped off his frock coat with a terrific flourish, offering Canis his hand. “Your lead, my dear magician.”

            Canis made a squeak like an old screen door, turning bright pink. Asra buried his face in his hands while Valentin quietly took the coat dangling from Julian’s arm and folded it neatly onto the empty cushion. Gulping down the rest of his drink, Canis scooted out of the booth, heather-blue coin belt jingling, and placed his hand primly in Julian’s black leather palm. Lifting his head high, he curtsied. “Thank you, Doctor.”

            The band launched into a lively waltz. Without waiting for a révérence in return, Canis laced an arm around Julian’s waist, twirling him over to the parquet floor, laughing at his bemused expression. “What, you weren’t serious?”

            “Well, I rarely am, but in this case—” Following his step, Julian laughed sheepishly. “—Pleasantly surprised.”

            “Don’t like taking the lead?” Canis teased, holding the small of his back.

            “I don’t usually have much of a choice,” Julian admitted. “Most people asking me to dance aren’t looking to lead.” His arm was light around Canis’ shoulders, and without the heavy black coat soaked in the sharp chemical scents of his office, he smelled like fresh cotton and leather. “Though you’ll find,” he went on, glancing over his shoulder as they turned, “I have a little more…enthusiasm…for following.”

            His breath hitched slightly, and Canis shivered, pulling him in closer by the waist and smirking when he saw the flush creep up from under Julian’s collar, felt the muscles of his back tighten under his hand. “My, Doctor.” With a flourish, he gave Julian a spin, unfolding him across the dance floor like a gangly black-and-red ribbon and reeling him back in. “I had no idea you could be so accommodating.”

            “Well, for all my faults, Canis Major,” he replied smoothly, tracing the gold bangles around Canis’ wrist, “I am _always_ eager to please.”

 -

            Julian’s back slammed into the wall of the alley, luckily shuttered from the street with wooden gates, his head lolling back against the red brick as Canis kissed messily down his neck, pinning his wrists to the outside wall of the bar. Pressing into him, Canis undid the loose knot of his cravat with his teeth, nipping at the pale skin of his throat where his collar fell open. Julian shuddered under him, his back arching up from the brick, and he turned to muffle a moan in the crook of his arm.

            “Noisy boy,” Canis murmured, releasing his wrists to tangle a hand in his hair. “Somebody might hear you…”

            “Oh—” Throwing his arms around Canis’ waist, Julian kissed him, sliding a hand up the back of his sheer, heather-blue top. The drag of leather on his skin made him shiver, almost as much as the stiff pressure against his hip, the black wool of Julian’s trousers already tented.

            Moaning into his mouth, Canis shoved a hand under his waistband, pulling the hem of his shirt free to trace along the thin line of coppery red hair trailing down his stomach. “So hard already,” he breathed, eyes rolling back a little as he ran his hand down Julian’s cock, long and leaking insistently against his thigh. “Oh, _woof_.”

            Julian stammered something utterly incoherent, hips rolling into Canis’ hand, pawing helplessly at his back. Rubbing him languidly, in long, teasing strokes, Canis tugged at the buttons of his shirt, running a hand over his chest to dig gold-tipped nails into his back.

            Julian’s eyes widened, and he stiffened like a board, one hand flying to his side and trapping Canis’ hand against his ribcage. Quivering, he shrank back against the wall, fumbling to hold his shirt closed. “W-wait—”

            Quickly, Canis pulled away, removing his hands as delicately as he could. “Are you alright?”

            “I—I-I—” Shakily, Julian got his feet under him again, swallowing. “I’m sorry, I—”

            “Did I hurt you, or…?” Worriedly, Canis touched his arm.

            It was hard to describe Julian’s reaction when he did, flinching in a way that begged him not to stop. “No! No, no—” Hastily buttoning himself up, he reached for Canis’ hand, but didn’t take it, gloved fingers hovering over his palm. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, I—I moved too fast—”

            “I don’t mind,” Canis assured him, leaning in to kiss him.

            Julian leaned in, too, but turned his face away. “I can’t. I’m so sorry—” He took a shuddering breath, retying his cravat firmly over his collar.

            Lip trembling, Canis took a step back, hurt twisting in his chest. “What do you mean? What—” A lump rose in his throat. “What did I do?”

            “No! Nothing! Oh, no—” Catching his hand, Julian kissed his fingers, just before he yanked it away. “No, please, it’s nothing you did, I swear—”

            “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed,” Canis fretted, toying with the decolette neck of his blouse. “I thought—”

            “Please. I j-I just—” Wilting against the wall, hangdog face downcast, Julian sighed. “Let’s go back inside. I’ll buy you a drink. I’ll…”

            Wrapping his arms around himself, chewing on his bottom lip, Canis nodded. Steeling himself, Julian shambled back inside, draping himself over the bar. Canis trailed behind, hanging in the doorway; at their booth in the back, Asra’s wide violet eyes landed on him, skipped over to Julian, and returned with mounting concern. When he started to get up, Canis turned on his heel and left.


	7. Cat And Mouse In Partnership

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't go out in the woods horny.

            Canis hadn’t realized how late it was until he reached the edge of the forest, the spaces between the trees like black holes. He replayed the night over and over in his head, from the first stolen kiss on the dance floor to Julian’s harried backpedaling in the alley, trying to find where he’d gone wrong, the warning signs he’d missed, the hesitations or “no”s Julian hadn’t felt safe enough to say, and all the while, he couldn’t shake the feeling it was nothing he’d done, but rather something he was. Something about him had made Julian shrink away—not simply rejecting, but _cowering_ from him. By the time he reached the treeline, his eyes stung, his throat tight.

            “Canis—” A warm—very warm—hand closed around his arm. Just before he made the trees, Lucio pulled him back into the shadows of the long, dingy-bricked storehouses at the outskirts of town. “For fuck’s sake. If you keep wandering the woods looking for me, you’re gonna end up inside-out in the city center like a freckly little sheep.”

            “Maybe I’m not looking for you,” Canis mumbled, tearing away from him.

            “My mistake. Go ahead.” Rolling his eyes, Lucio waved him back to the forest. “Go get skewered. Don’t let me get in your way.”

            “Stop it.” His voice trembled when he tried to snap. He frowned. “How did you know where I was?”

            “Your mark.” Lucio gestured to the bite displayed prominently on his bare shoulder, barely pink after a few days of healing. “It helps me find you, if you want to be found. Meaning,” he added with a smug smile, “you wanted to be found.” He picked at one long canine with his thumbnail. “So you _were_ looking for me.”

            Rolling his eyes, Canis turned away. “And if I was?”

            “You have more questions.” Bracing a hand on either side of him, Lucio cornered him against the wall, taking a deep inhale of his neck. “So _I_ get—”

            “I don’t have any questions,” Canis interrupted, touching one gold-painted finger to his lips. Pressing his hips forward, he slid a hand up Lucio’s chest, grabbing the open collar of his shirt roughly. “I want something else from you tonight.”

            Lucio hesitated for a second, something almost like suspicion in his eyes, then kissed him, pressing his back into the dirty brick, gripping his hips just shy of bruising when he broke away. “I don’t pay for—or with—that,” he murmured against Canis’ cheek, feeling around to the small of his back. “It’s in bad taste.”

            “So do it for free,” Canis panted, shoving his hand down the front of Lucio’s trousers, teasing between his hips and letting out an exaggerated gasp.

            Shuddering, Lucio ran his tongue over the curve of Canis’ jaw. “Sure that’s what you want?”

            “Mm…” Tangling the other hand in his hair, Canis gave it a yank. “You don’t scare me.”

            “Is that so?” Roughly, Lucio swept his feet out from under him, throwing him over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry and porting him through the darkened streets. “We’ll see about that.”

 -

            Canis curled up happily in the four-poster bed, black silk sheets in a tangled nest around him, tracing one hand over the deep gouges Lucio’s horns had cut into the cherrywood headboard. He’d barely glanced at the rest of the apartment on the way in, a nondescript second-floor walkup with a back entrance less than a hundred yards from the woods, but the walls of the bedroom were lined with trophies, mounted antlers and sun-bleached bones and jewelry, some loose, some arranged in shadowboxes or on bust- and hand-forms. There were only a few actual books, old and fraying between the macabre baubles on the shelves, but at least three mirrors he could see from the bed, in addition to the huge, gold-trimmed glass attached to the bureau, the same elaborately-carved reddish wood as the bed. On one of the nightstands, a hollowed-out, horned skull burned low with soft, sweet incense smoke.

            Stretching, Canis rolled onto Lucio’s chest, hot, sallow skin pocked with soot-black patches, catching his breath. His back and sides smarted, and Lucio’s arms and hands were smudged with crimson, sharp teeth still stained red at the root. Stroking Canis’ cheek with his thumb, he let out a sigh, half-lidded red eyes running ruefully over the throbbing red mark in the crook of his neck. “…I bit you.”

            Kissing under his jaw with a soft hum, Canis closed his eyes. “It’s okay.”

            “Ten questions.”

            He perked up. “Ten?”

            “Yeah, why not?” Running a hand down his side, Lucio sealed the deeper scratches, beaded with blood from his overzealous claws. “I’m not going anywhere.”

            “Hmm.” Shivering a little as the sweat dried on his skin, Canis snuggled closer to him. “How did you die?”

            “Holy _shit_ —” Eyes flying open, Lucio stared at him. “Not gonna work up to that one?”

            “What?” Blinking at him innocently, Canis traced patterns on his chest. “You were human once, weren’t you? There’s not a _lot_ of research on the subject, but—”

            “Well, yeah, but—” Shifting against the pillows, Lucio made a face. “That’s a little…personal.”

            Canis raised an eyebrow. “So is drinking my blood. And pounding me into your mattress.”

            “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, looking up at the gold-velvet canopy. “In a fire.”

            “Oh.” Thoughtfully, Canis touched the skin of his forearm where it darkened from ghostly pale to black. “Was it an accident?”

            “No.” It was quiet, flat, matter-of-fact.

            “…What did you do?”

            “Screamed, mostly.” Sitting up against the pillows, Lucio reached for the bundled-up sheets. “That’s three.”

            “No—ugh.” With a huff, Canis swiped Lucio’s shirt off the nightstand, pulling it over his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

            “That’s what I heard,” Lucio retorted, flashing him an impudent grin.

            “Fine.” Wrapping up in the sheet, Canis settled back against his chest. “You said you get hungrier when you don’t eat. Can you starve to death?—back to death?”

            With a snort, Lucio shook his head, running his fingers through Canis’ hair, gently working out the tangles in the thick brown waves. “Nope.”

            “So,” he prompted, trying and failing to catch Lucio’s eye, “what happens, the hungrier you get?”

            The fingers paused in his hair, and Lucio took a deep breath. “I’m…a lot less picky about what I eat.”

            Canis was quiet for a moment. “You can’t control yourself.”

            “I didn’t say that,” he snapped. “That’s five.”

            Scooting up on the pillow-pile, Canis studied him in the darkness, distant eyes and tight-clenched jaw. “Is there any deal you can’t make? Anything someone could ask for you couldn’t give, no matter what they offered?”

            “Deal” cut through his reverie like a thread on a hot knife. With a smirk, he trailed a hand down Canis’ back, stinging the scratches crisscrossing his freckled shoulders. “Not a thing. If the payment fits the payoff, I can give you anything you want.”

            “Except sex,” Canis countered.

            He frowned. “That’s a personal principle. I’m not that kind of girl.”

            Hand to his heart, Canis gasped dramatically. “My, my—a demon with principles?”

            “You’re lucky I don’t call that number seven.” Nipping at his bottom lip, Lucio kissed him, cupping the back of his neck possessively.

            “That wouldn’t be very nice,” Canis mumbled against his lips, hooking one leg over his waist.

            “ _I’m_ not very nice.” The tips of Lucio’s claws pricked the nape of his neck, and he yelped indignantly.

            “Careful.” Warningly, Canis trailed a hand down his stomach, palming his cock under the covers. “Keep clawing at me and I’ll want another round.”

            Grabbing a handful of his thigh, Lucio smiled. “What a travesty.”

            “I don’t want to wear you out.” Canis squinted at him. “How _old_ are you, anyway?”

            Lip curling in disgust, Lucio leaned away. “Technically or chronologically, and why do you wanna know?”

            “Stop answering my questions with questions.” Canis tweaked the end of his nose. “Both.”

            Lucio made a strangled noise, burying his face in the pillow. Laughing, Canis tried to dig him out. “Come on. You have to answer.”

            Groaning, he burrowed into Canis’ chest. “This is where the can’t-lie thing becomes a real pain in the ass.”

            “Oh, it can’t be that bad.” Cupping his cheeks, Canis looked him right in the miserable red eyes. “You got your blood. Pay up.”

            “But I don’t want to,” Lucio whined, squirming. “You’re what, twenty?”

            “Twenty-four.”

            He grimaced. “Not _much_ better.”

            “Lucio.” Insistently, Canis brushed the hair out of his eyes. “You gave your word.”

            With a long-suffering sigh, Lucio looked away. “I died a little less than three hundred years ago.”

            Canis’ eyes widened, but he swallowed his surprise for the moment. “And?”

            “And I was in my thirties,” he muttered, scowling down at the bed.

            Canis waited.

            “…the year before I died.”

            He cocked an eyebrow. “So you’re forty…?”

            “Hey—shh!” Flopping back against the pillows, Lucio pouted. “I am ageless. I’m in my eternal _prime_.”

            “Got it.” Snuggling up to him, Canis giggled. “I’m guessing your sin wasn’t humility?”

            Pulling him in tight with one arm, Lucio sniffed. “No. And that’s nine.”

            “Hey!” Peeking up from his chest, Canis gave him a withering look. “Now you’re being a bad sport.”

            “No, I’m being self-serving.” Smugly, Lucio kissed the top of his head. “There’s a difference.”

            Canis thought for a while, tracing an almost-perfect circle of burnt black on Lucio’s hip, a now-obvious souvenir of his violent death. The bite prickled intermittently, the silk sheets soothing on the scratches all over his back. “…Why are you here? I mean—” He hesitated, feeling Lucio tense under him. “Why are you a demon, instead of…wherever you’re supposed to go when you die?”

            Lucio was quiet, and for a moment Canis thought he’d fallen—or pretended to fall—asleep, to avoid answering or possibly out of pure spite. Softly, rubbing Canis’ back through the sheets, he said, “I don’t know,” and Canis got the feeling he was very far away. “I’m just…stuck.”

            “That’s it?” Abruptly, Canis sat up. “That’s all you know? You’re eating dogs and squatting in a—surprisingly nice—apartment, and you have no idea why?”

            “Hey, I own this building,” Lucio shot back. “And it’s not like there’s someone handing out instructions and horns to every bastard who dies.”

            “But…what if there’s something dangerous? I _mean_ —” he went on quickly, before Lucio could fit in a narcissistic quip, “what if you have weaknesses you don’t know about? What if someone’s using you—”

            “To do what, collect dead dogs?”

            “I don’t know!” Canis threw up his hands. “And apparently neither do you.”

            “Wow.” Gently guiding Canis’ face into his shoulder, Lucio eased him back down onto the bed. “Do you always get this existential after sex, or did I not fuck you hard enough?”

            “I don’t know.” Clinging to him, Canis frowned. “I’m anxious.”

            “Okay.” Lucio flipped him onto his back, grinning and straddling his hips. “Let’s see if I can fix that.”


	8. The Three Apprentices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family can be three magicians in a tiny house.

            “A friend,” Canis said for the umpteenth time. “That’s all.”

            “But _which_ friend?” Asra pressed for the umpteen-minus-one-th, shuffling his gilt-edged tarot cards anxiously.

            “Do you really, honestly have to know everyone I’ve ever slept with?” Pouring himself some lightly-oversteeped tea, Canis rolled his eyes.

            “No, but the way you’re deflecting for this one in particular is fairly suspicious,” Valentin piped up from the lofted bed, holding a warm washcloth over his eyes.

            “Shut up and nurse your hangover.” Curling up opposite Asra on the sofa, Canis shook his head. “I don’t like when you two gang up on me.”

            Obediently, Valentin pulled the covers over his head, groaning. With a sigh, Asra set the cards on the floor, stretching out and laying his head in Canis’ lap. “I’m sorry. With everything that’s been going on, it’s hard not to worry about you two.”

            “ _I’m_ not the one who holed up with a _werewolf_ for three days without telling anyone,” Canis pointed out, stroking his hair.

            “Yeah, about that.” Asra started to sit up. “Valentin—”

            “Valentin’s not taking questions at this time,” he mumbled from under the covers. “Come back to me when you’re done with Canis.”

            Canis sighed, pulling Asra back into his lap. “I had a bad night. I didn’t want to drag you two down, so I found someone to cheer me up. That’s _all_.”

            From the bed, Valentin gave a muffled laugh. “Sounds about right.”

            “What happened with you and the doctor, anyway?” Asra asked, catching one of Canis’ hands and playing with his fingers. “You were getting along—”

            “ _Very_ well,” Valentin added.

            “—and then you disappeared.” Looking up at him worriedly, Asra squeezed his hand. “Are you alright?”

            “ _I’m_ fine.” Leaning back on the overstuffed cushions, Canis sighed. “Julian, on the other hand…”

            Immediately, Asra sat up. “What did he do?” Something sparked in his brilliant purple eyes, one hand flying protectively to Canis’ heart. “Did he—”

            “No—it wasn’t like that.” Catching his hand, Canis kissed it reassuringly. “Everything was fine— or I thought it was—then all of a sudden, it was like—like—” Helplessly, he reached for the right words, and it made his throat tighten again when he found them. “Like he couldn’t even stand to touch me, like I was…hurting him?” Quickly, he shook his head, banishing the thoughts before they got too loud. “I’m not upset that he wanted to stop, I just…wish he’d said why,” he finished lamely, wilting against the arm of the couch. “I want to know what I did wrong.”

            “Oh, Canis…” Softening, Asra scooted in closer, resting his head on Canis’ shoulder. “Ilya’s…flighty.” From the loft, Valentin snorted, and Asra shot him a fruitless dirty look before going on. “You can’t take it personally.”

            “Too late,” Canis mumbled, burying his face in the soft, floral scent of Asra’s hair. “Is that why you two broke up?”

            Asra made a face. “What?”

            He raised an eyebrow. “He said you had history.”

            “I’m not surprised.” Crawling out from under the blankets, Valentin squinted in the bright sunlight streaming in the skylight. “Since you have a cute little nickname for him.”

            “There are…a few reasons we didn’t work out.” Avoiding both of their eyes, Asra played absently with one of Canis’ dangly rose-gold-bud earrings. “He can be very charming, and he means well, but….consistency’s not his strong suit.”

            “Ugh.” Kicking at the couch in a miniature tantrum, Canis pouted. “And he was so cute. I kissed him once, and he just fell apart. I think he was drooling.”

            Gingerly, Valentin ran a brush through his hair. “That’s one of your things.”

            Asra snorted. “That’s Ilya, alright.”

            Dragging himself off the couch, Canis undid the gold-coin buttons up the back of his heather-blue top, wandering over to the bathroom. “I’ll just take a bath. That’ll fix everything.” Leaving his clothes in a trail behind him, he started the water pump over the copper-claw-foot tub with a puff of golden spark. He squeezed in between the mirror and Valentin working meticulously on his hair, to wipe off the smeared remnants of his makeup, forgetting, for an unfortunate moment—

            “Canis, what the hell?” Jaw and handful of hair pins dropping to the floor, Valentin stared at the scabbing mass of scratches on his back, sweeping his messy, chocolate-brown hair to one side. “You look like someone threw a cat at you.”

            “Big cat,” Asra chimed in, peeking in from the hall.

            Turning to inspect them in the mirror, Canis winced. “I…didn’t think they’d look that bad.”

            “Well, forget about Julian.” Valentin threw up his hands, gathering up his gold-leaf pins from the mosaic floor. “This friend of yours isn’t afraid to touch you at all.”

            “Maybe they should be.” Worriedly, Asra reached for Canis’ back, balking before he made contact. “Those look deep.”

            “Uh-huh.” With a smile, Canis shivered happily. “You should see the other guy.” Truthfully, he’d left his fair share of much sloppier, more ragged scratches with much duller nails on Lucio’s back, though he hadn’t drawn blood.

            “We’d love to, but you won’t tell us who they are,” Valentin replied, nudging him away from the mirror.

            “Mm. Oh, well.” Sprinkling lavender-scented salts into the bath, Canis tested the water with one hand.

            There was a knock at the door, and Asra went to get it. After a moment of shuffling and unintelligible murmuring with a more argumentative than salutatory timbre, he called, “Canis! It’s for you!”

            Completely naked, except for his rosebud earrings and matching nipple-studs, Canis exchanged a look with Valentin. “…Can they come back later…?”

            Asra’s voice was flat, tepid. “Might as well deal with it now.”

            Without looking away from the mirror, Valentin handed him the blue silk robe from the back of the door. Covering himself hastily, Canis picked his way over the discarded clothes to the front door. It was hard to say who blushed harder: Canis, holding his robe closed on the purple-reed welcome mat; or the doctor, in his black coat and waistcoat, a well-loved picnic basket and a small blue bouquet balancing on his hip.

            Asra brushed past him with a pointed eye-roll, and Canis squeaked out a “Julian!” with all the grace of a puppy skidding down a flight of stairs. Clearing his throat, he tucked some hair behind his ear, trying not to stare too long at the flowers. “What—what are you doing here? I mean—” He winced, grasping unsuccessfully for something a little less harsh.

            “I’m sorry—” Quickly averting his eyes, flushed from his stiff white collar to the tips of his ears, Julian hid behind the bundle of purplish-blue irises. “I—I can come back—”

            “No, it’s alright—” Glancing back into the house, Canis beckoned him inside. “This isn’t the _most_ embarrassed I’ve ever been.”

            “Well, I won’t keep you long, I—” Nudging the door shut behind him, Julian slid the bouquet in one side of the basket, offering up the lot. “I wanted to apologize for last night, for how I acted.”

            “Oh, you didn’t have to do this,” Canis insisted, eagerly accepting the basket. Marveling at the flowers, he gave them a sniff and conjured a blown-glass vase out of thin air.

            “Wow,” Julian breathed, eyes widening at the burst of magic. “It might be a bit much,” he admitted, gesturing to the basket. “But I really do feel awful, and I can only imagine how you must’ve felt when I—ahem.” Thick auburn brows knit penitently, he drooped. “Believe it or not, that wasn’t how I wanted things to go.”

            Canis’ stomach twisted, and he set the flowers aside. “Believe it or not, neither did I.”

            “I…don’t rush into things.” Nervously, Julian toyed with his hands. “I’m not—that kind of person. I moved too fast, I second-guessed myself, I—I panicked, and I shouldn’t have, and—if you don’t mind, if we take it more slowly, I—” He let out his breath, grey eyes pleading and contrite. “I think you’re just intoxicating, and I’d like the chance to make it up to you.”

            Canis bit his lip. “Julian—” A glimpse of red ribbon in the basket caught his eye, and he peeked at it curiously. Among a covered dish and a few wrapped packages was a clear glass jar full of yellowish paste. He pulled it out, turning it over and frowning at it.

            “Oh, that—that’s for your bite.” Julian laughed sheepishly, running a gloved hand through his hair. “The rest, though, that’s all very romantic.”

            “I’m sure.” With an exasperated laugh, Canis set the basket down. “I wish you’d told me things were moving too fast. I wouldn’t have been so forward.”

            “I know.” He winced. “At first, it felt good to be spontaneous. I wanted to get carried away, but…” For a moment, he looked away, a distant, inscrutable sort of shadow passing over his face, before shaking himself back to earth. “I should’ve said something. The last thing I want is for you to think—that is—I, uh.” Self-consciously, he rubbed his cheek, reddening again. “I meant what I said about, uh, following your lead, and I wouldn’t want you to think you’re anything less than an, er, enchanting dance partner.”

            “’Enchanting’, hm?” Canis giggled. “I didn’t realize I left you so…bewitched.”

            “Well, if you’ll have me,” Julian replied with a grin, “you’ll find I have _charms_ of my own.”

            From the kitchen, Asra muttered, “Oh, for the love of—”

            “Maybe we’d better steer away from dancing and drinks, but…” Canis nodded. “I’d like that.”


	9. Going a-Traveling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you let a few bloody corpses ruin picnic weather, you just don't have the right attitude.

            The appearance of a ravaged animal corpse in the city center was becoming increasingly commonplace, the accompanying shrieks of horror and revulsion as much a part of the morning symphony as the crowing of roosters and grinding of wagon wheels on the cobbled streets. Today, a ram, the tenth such abomination to turn up in the night, was skewered on the fountain before the Lady’s Manor, the sprawling estate that composed the whole north edge of the city center, the little blood remaining in its ruined body running and recycling through the owl-headed spouts of pristine silver, the vital fluids oozing over the sleek marble carved with phases of the moon. Deep furrows from huge claws had dug up the white stones in all directions, radiating out from the elaborate fountain with streaks of blood, crusty smears of viscera, and a strange, black, evil-smelling ichor that pitted and ate away at the stones before it dried. The fountain’s centerpiece, a trio of dancers in fine stone silks, burst through the dead ram’s chest, ribs torn open and broken and pointing to the sky like sharp white fingers.

            The Manor was dark, deserted weeks before the first killing by the Lady herself on her honeymoon, only the house- and groundskeepers milling around on occasion to keep the place maintained. The city center, though, was bustling, roiling with a crowd of terrified but titillated onlookers, each eager to shove through to the front of the crowd for their turn to shy away in terror. Canis held Julian’s arm tightly as they forded the square, weaving through the tightly-packed, nervous bodies.

            “Oh, it’s horrible, horrible!” The grey-skinned old man who lived two doors down form the shop and lent money for things like barn fires and flooded houses wailed in his thin, reedy voice, clasping his wispy little wife to his chest as she sobbed uncontrollably.

            “I may have spoken too soon,” Julian said, holding the basket up over his head and skirting the chaos with long strides, “when I said ‘nice day for a picnic’.”

            “Oh, no, I agree.” Double-timing to keep pace with his long legs, Canis held the picnic blanket, hand-sewn with patches of multicolored lilies, to his chest. “I’d rather not be in town right now.”

            “I’m sure they’ll be knocking _your_ door down in an hour or so, too.” Blue-and-silver-jacketed constables began to worm into the crowd, breaking it up into pockets, and Julian seized the opportunity to steal down a side street. “Making a killing—pardon the expression—in protection spells, lately, aren’t we?”

            “And I’m sure you can’t keep sedatives on the shelves.” Canis nodded, slowing a little to catch his breath.

            “Not remotely.” Setting down the basket, Julian pulled off his cravat, the loose bow devastated by the pushing crowd, and started to retie it, his efforts clumsy without a mirror.

            “Here.” Laying down the blanket, Canis took the garnet-colored tie from him, draping it over one shoulder and straightening his collar. Under the clean white cotton, soft from wear and touched with the slightest scent of cedar from his aftershave, was a thin black cord disappearing under his shirt. Curiously, Canis inspected it while he slipped the cravat around the high collar. “What’s your necklace?”

            With a short, wry laugh, Julian shook his head. “Just a good luck charm. I’m afraid I’m no better than the rest of the superstitious masses.”

            “Livestock are being torn apart, and people are disappearing without a trace.” Winding the red satin around his collar, Canis tied it in a neat cascade. “A little superstition doesn’t hurt.” Smoothing the cravat proudly, he leaned up and kissed Julian’s cheek. “There you go.”

            “Thank you, my dear.” Scooping up their picnic supplies, Julian offered his arm. “Let’s see if we can’t salvage this day, mm?”

 -

            They found a spot a short jaunt into the woods, a knoll looking over the river. It was a good quarter mile from the bloodberry patch, for which Canis was thankful, because the memory of yet another eviscerated animal was guaranteed to ruin his appetite, and the birch trees were sparse, allowing through enough sunlight that the forest floor was blooming, a carpet of pink-and-white foamflowers weaving between the papery trunks. In the light, the river bubbling gently over mossy stones, the ambient sounds more birdsong and chittering of squirrels than unearthly roars and demonic growls, the forest was a startlingly pleasant place to be.

            Unwrapping two dark glass bottles from the picnic basket, Julian passed him a teacup. “Red or white?”

            “Ooh, red.” Unpacking covered dishes and a few half-burnt, different-colored tapers from the basket, Canis spread them out on the blanket. With a silver-handled corkscrew, Julian cracked open both bottles, took a sniff of each, and motioned for Canis to hold out his cup—then handed him an entire bottle.

            Canis laughed, tossing the teacup aside and taking a swig. “None for you?”

            “If you get tired of it, let me know—” Leaning back on the blanket, Julian took a long drink from the other bottle, sighing. “We’ll trade.”

            Canis crossed his legs, popping the cover off a dish of miniature fruit tarts. “I don’t normally have wine this early in the day.”

            “My dear, in times like these, day drinking is not only a reasonable pastime, but a necessary one.” Toasting him with the bottle, Julian set it aside, pressing it into the dirt so it stood on its own. “At least as dangerous as whatever nasty thing keeps leaving corpses in the middle of town are the nerves, paranoia, and hysteria it incites.”

            “People are already terrified to go out,” Canis mused, laying out two scallop-edged plates. “I’ve heard rumors of petitioning for a curfew when Her Ladyship returns to town.”

            “Ah, curfew.” Julian made a face. “First step on the very short road to a full-on witch-hunt.”

            “Oh, please, no.” Groaning, Canis took another sip of wine. “You don’t know how inconvenient a witch-hunt sounds when you’re essentially a real witch.”

            “Hey, it doesn’t pay to be the mysterious, enigmatic doctor who breezed into town right around the time this mess began, either.” Pointedly, Julian ripped off a hunk of bread, reaching for the gingham-topped jar of goat cheese.

            “That’s true, you did…” Canis narrowed his eyes teasingly. “Hmm…Big man like you could easily carry a body around, and with your skill with a scalpel…”

            “’Big’? Please.” Slipping off his coat, Julian wrapped a hand demonstrably around his thin wrist, thumb and finger touching even over the layers of cotton and leather. “There’s nothing to me. If I tried to lift a sheep into a fountain, I’d snap in half.”

            “Is that your professional, medical opinion, Doctor?” Canis teased, gathering up the mismatched tapers. Fingers glowing brilliant gold, he ran them over the bundle of candles, then let them go, floating up around the blanket in a neat ring and sparking to life.

            Distracted by the candles bobbing in the air, Julian nodded. “Uh, more or less, yes…” Tentatively, he reached up to touch one, but flinched when the breeze brought it close to his hand. “How…do you do that? I mean—” Tearing his eyes away from the candles, he reached for the wine bottle. “It’s incredible, don’t get me wrong, but—”

            “I get the feeling,” Canis said, scooting closer to him on the blanket, “you don’t like things you can’t explain.”

            “It’s not that I don’t _like_ it.” Gesturing vaguely with the bottle, Julian fumbled for words. “I…have a…healthy suspicion.”

            Catching his hand on the bottle, Canis took a drink from it, holding his gaze. “If _I_ had a ‘healthy suspicion’ about handsome, mysterious doctors, we wouldn’t be having very much fun, would we?”

            Julian swallowed, nearly tipping the bottle into Canis’ lap before he caught himself, the tips of his ears turning pink. “You, uh, you got me there.”

            “Besides.” Licking the white wine off his lips, Canis held up one of the tarts, leaning in to feed him. “I wouldn’t conjure up anything that could hurt you.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Not unless you wanted me to.”

            Choking on a mouthful of berries and pastry, Julian cleared his throat. “N-now, I’ll hold you to that. _Both_ of…that.” He frowned. Canis giggled, falling backward onto the picnic blanket and feeling for his wine. Julian grinned. “Well, if you like that…”

            “Oh, is there more where that came from?” Shaking his head, Canis took a drink.

            Lying back on the blanket, one long leg dangling off the edge of the hillock, Julian sighed. “Unfortunately? Much more.”

            Moving their picnic spread out of the way, Canis snuggled closer to him—lying side by side, but not so close as to smother him, just in case. “Why are you back in town?”

            “I’d been away for a long time,” he admitted, resting his head back on his hands. “It was time to come home.”

            Canis studied him, a little rumpled, a little tired, messy red hair fanning out in loose curls on the patchwork blanket, the faintest splash of freckles just visible in the midday sun across the sharp bridge of his nose. “Where do you go?”

            “Oh, all over.” Julian smiled, faraway eyes tracing over the wispy clouds. “Every ship needs a surgeon, so I usually hitch a ride down to the port, ask around until someone picks me up.” Absently, he counted off, “I’ve been on merchant ships, barges, envoys royal, ducal, comital, and imperial…cutting off limbs and handing out orange juice, mostly, but…hm.” He closed his eyes. “The point of it’s the where, not the what.”

            Canis could practically smell the sea air, the adrenaline, and it made him wistful. “How long are you staying, this time?”

            “I have a charter for a shipping barque that leaves in a few weeks.” Stretching, Julian sat up, ducking to avoid the floating candles. “Six months through the southeast, 'round the spice isles and the Sea of Monsters.”

            “Sea of Monsters?” Canis perked up.

            “Don’t get too excited.” Julian rolled his eyes, swirling his wine in the bottle. “It’s full of legends, all kinds of grand stories, but I think _I’m_ the scariest thing to sail those waters in a long time.”

            “Oh, well, in that case.” With an exaggerated grimace, Canis turned away. “Not much of an adventure.”

            “Oho, don’t sell me short, Canis Major.” Baring his teeth teasingly, Julian waggled his gloved fingers like ghostly claws. “I might be the stuff of your nightmares.”

            “Funny,” Canis replying, dipping into a tart with his pinky and leaving a dab of pastry cream on the end of Julian’s nose, “I think I _have_ seen you in my dreams before…” Sucking his finger clean, he batted his lashes. “And I was certainly screaming.”

            “Hah…” All the air rushing out of him, Julian managed to miss his nose twice with the white cloth napkin before he successfully wiped it clean. “No, uh—ahem. No wonder you’re such a phenomenal dancer.” Biting his lip, he blushed far and away past his collar. “You don’t miss a beat.”

            Cupping his cheek, Canis kissed him, softly, holding his hand instead of pawing at his chest, reminding him, “Nice and slow,” in a murmur against his cheek. “I don’t want you pushing me away again.”

            Visibly relieved, Julian wrapped his arms around Canis’ waist, one hand sliding up to stroke his hair. “Thank you.” He sighed, kissing behind Canis’ ear. “I promise I don’t mean to be such a mess.”

            “Julian, if you think you’re a mess…” Pulling away, Canis framed his own face sweetly, quirking one scarred brow. “You don’t know _what_ you’re getting into.”


	10. The Shepherd Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muriel ventures into town and makes a new friend.

            Wearing a blanket like a cape over his star-embroidered pajamas, Canis made the short trip to the mailbox barefoot, keeping to the mossy patches his overly-enthusiastic magical gardening had made on, the white-stone steps. The half-timbered house, once a farmhouse and attached barn, sat atop one of the peaks of the hilly part of the city, the barn repurposed as a storefront full of herbs, baubles, tarot decks, heavy books with curious auras, and anything else three young magicians with varying levels of anxiety cooked up. The mailbox was shaped like a birdhouse, but the size of it and the friendly but large lavender python that lived in the garden dissuaded most birds from visiting.

            Today, however, was an exception. Perched atop the bright turquoise roof, Malak watched him come down the steps from the house, cocking his blue-black head to one side. In his beak, he held a rolled-up scrap of paper, tied with a red ribbon.

            Canis brightened, skipping down the last few steps to the mailbox. “Hello, sweet baby!”

            With a _grrk_ around the paper in his mouth, Malak hopped up and down. Canis took the scroll from his beak, and he croaked, “Hello.” Talons clicking on the hand-painted wood, he leaned down and pulled the small sheaf of letters from the opening of the mailbox, laying them neatly in Canis’ hand.

            “Oh, thank you so much.” Stroking his head, Canis adjusted his hold on the mail and pulled the blanket taut over one shoulder. “Would you like to come in?”

 _Rikkk_ , Malak replied, stepping nimbly onto his shoulder.

            Shaking his head, Canis smiled, turned, and started back up the stairs, only to stop short. A huge, dark shape blotted out the door taller than the arched white frame. It was hard to make out details, at first, the mottled black, grey, and deep browns acting as a sort of camouflage. Then, Canis caught the hem of a cloak, soles of boots, broad shoulders under layers of rough, uneven leather and furs. He took a few more steps; on his shoulder, Malak made his bubbling-beaker sound. “Excuse me?” Canis called, holding the mail to his chest.

            The person jumped, turning to face him, Their face was hidden in the folds of the ratty hood, but despite their size, their hunched-over, shrinking-into-the-siding posture was less than threatening. Canis went up another step, and they glanced nervously over their shoulder to the path, pink granite gravel leading to the back of the house.

            The door opened, and the big visitor jumped again.

            “I told you, you don’t have to knock.” Valentin leaned in the doorway in a mauve silk robe, ruffling a towel through his hair. “I knew you were coming.”

            “Valentin?” One hand on his hip, Canis climbed the stairs, raising an eyebrow expectantly. The person stiffened when he came near.

            “I…thought you were staying at Julian’s.” Glancing between him and the hulking stranger, Valentin sighed. “Well, come in.” He pulled the door wide.

            Canis waited, but the stranger made no move to go first, so he did, catching a whiff of piney, earthy musk like the deep woods when he brushed past and taking the mail and raven to the kitchen counter. Behind him, reluctantly, the stranger ducked inside, hovering in the entryway. “I got in late,” he said casually, flipping through the small stack of letters. Malak watched him, making a sound like a yawn. “You were in the bath when I got up.”

            “Oh.” Valentin didn’t look at him, helping—and silently persuading—the visitor out of their heavy cloak of pelts. He hung the cloak on the coat tree, where it dwarfed the collection of mismatched, beaded scarves hanging off the cast-iron spokes. Removing the shapeless layer of skins didn’t make the stranger any less imposing, their face obscured by shaggy black hair, wrinkled, faded green linen hanging off a heavily-muscled chest, rough black trousers and boots bound in place with thick leather cord. “Usually when it’s that late, you take the excuse to stay instead of making the trip home.”

            “Mm-hmm. Hey, Valentin?” Canis asked brightly, setting Malak on the kitchen counter. “Who’s this?”

            The stranger mumbled something indistinct, and Valentin took one of their big, calloused hands, leading them into the living room. “This is Muriel.” His tone was particularly casual, and he cleared a spot on the sofa, a nest of blankets and books and other clutter, meticulously, guiding Muriel onto the cushions.

            “Oh, your werewolf?” Canis felt wary eyes on the side of his face, but when he turned, Muriel quickly looked away, sinking into himself on the overstuffed sofa.

            “Well, yes, but—” Rolling his eyes, Valentin climbed the ladder to the loft, disappeared into the closet. “A little decorum, maybe?”

            Canis rolled his eyes right back, slicing into the first of several thank-you letters with an athame Asra had banned from rituals because the handle kept getting too hot. “I’m Canis. It’s nice to meet you. Valentin’s told me almost nothing about you.” 

            Huddled on the couch, voice deep and gravelly, Muriel said, “Good.”

            “Don’t be snarky.” Ducking behind a folding screen painted with a rainbow of foxes in an orange-blossom grove, Valentin threw his robe and towel over the side. “Both of you.”

            “All I know is that you’re a werewolf, and you saved his life,” Canis went on as though he hadn’t spoken, tearing into a lavender envelope. “And he’s been in a much better mood for the few weeks he’s been visiting you, even if it’s hard to tell sometimes.”

            Curiously, Muriel uncurled a little, looking up at the loft. Dressing quickly behind the screen, Valentin huffed. “Why didn’t you stay at Julian’s, again?”

            Canis shrugged, having spent a few weeks now with a startling example of equivocation, and putting it into practice. “I didn’t say.” He reached for another letter, and Malak clicked at him, picking up the scroll, dropping it in front of him, and tugging at the ribbon with his beak. Canis laughed. “Oh, I see. It’s urgent, is it?”

            Peeking up from the couch, Muriel caught sight of Malak and perked up, combing the hair out of his face and holding out a hand. Malak looked at him, then back at Canis, clicking again. With a sigh, Canis undid the ribbon, unrolling the small scrap of paper. Satisfied, Malak fluttered over to the couch, landing on the back and investigating Muriel’s fingers with his beak. The words took a moment to decipher, scrawled on a yellowed page from Julian’s ratty journal in his utterly tragic handwriting:

 

> _My dear Canis,_
> 
> _My sources in certain astronomical circles have informed me the stars will be particularly beautiful this Friday evening; some hocus-pocus about Mercury in marmalade. Naturally, your extensive astrological expertise makes you an ideal partner to grab a bottle of wine, lie in a field, and witness the alleged majesty of nature. If you’re inclined, give Malak a note—if not, just keep him and send for his things._
> 
> _Thank you, as always, for your company, and for so many wonderful nights._
> 
> _\- J_
> 
> _As the poet said – “thy name is more than language, when it lingers on my lips”._

            While he read, Canis couldn’t help but smile; his face felt warm and electric as he leaned against the counter, lingering on the flimsy paper just a second too long, so that Valentin’s voice spooked him when it came from just over his shoulder.

            “Secret admirer?”

            Rolling up the paper, Canis wrapped the ribbon loosely around it. “Not exactly secret. Julian asked me to go stargazing Friday.”

            “Stargazing?” Dragging over a three-legged stool, Valentin climbed up to reach the dozen cookie jars lining the tops of the cabinets. “And he asked you via raven?” Every lid was perched atop a different jar than it belonged to, and he went about fixing them while he searched their contents. “So this is what happens when you don’t sleep together on the first date.”

            Canis made an indignant noise, going to the living room and picking through the wave of clutter for paper and a pen. On the sofa, Malak lay on his back in on his back in one of Muriel’s arm, tiny black eyes closed happily, taloned feet opening and closing slowly while Muriel stroked the thick feathers on the underside of his neck. Digging out a notebook and a rose-colored pencil, Canis settled into the papasan chair. “Muriel, would you like some tea? I’m sure Valentin would’ve offered if he wasn’t so fixated on my love life.”

            “I’m fine,” he mumbled, keeping his attention firmly on the raven in his lap.

            “He’s your ‘love life’, now?” Taking down a yellow jar painted with blue-and-black butterflies, Valentin started a beaten old kettle on the stove with a swirl of turquoise magic. “Last I heard, he wasn’t even your sex life.”

            “We’re getting there,” Canis insisted. “He’s just a slow mover.”

            “And you don’t mind the walk?” Valentin climbed over the back of the couch, taking a cookie shaped like a lemon slice from the jar and offering the rest to Muriel.

            Canis sighed, adding a flourish to the tail of a _J_. “He is _really_ cute.”

            Malak peered over the rim of the cookie jar, and Muriel blocked him with one finger. “That’s not good for you.”

            Tapping his beak on the rim of the jar, Malak said, “Hello,” in his low, croaky voice, and reached for a cookie. Again, Muriel thwarted him, moving the jar back into Valentin’s lap. Hopping off Muriel’s knee to follow it, Malak chirped, “Hello,” again, this time in his facsimile of Canis, and nudged Valentin’s hand with his beak.

            “No, no.” He passed the jar over the raven’s head to Muriel, who shielded it with one burly arm. “That—” Valentin frowned, glancing over at Canis. “That sounded like you.”

            Laughing, Canis dotted an _i_ with a tiny pink star. “Malak does great impressions—don’t you, handsome?”

 _Haww_ , Malak replied, bobbing up and down on Valentin’s lap, talons picking at the shiny copper buttons of his peacock-blue waistcoat.

            “Malak.” Catching his eye, Canis set down his pencil. “Bless you.”

            Fluffing up, the raven let out a soft sneeze. Valentin laughed, and Muriel un-scrunched even more, intrigued.

            “Let’s see…” Canis sat forward. “Can you be a pigeon?”

            Stepping in place, Malak cooed, burbly and high-pitched.

            “Good boy! Now, Malak—” With a mischievous grin, Canis raised an eyebrow. “Where’s Julian?”

            In a mellow baritone only a little scratchier than Julian’s voice, Malak replied, “Ah—ahaha—ahem.”

            Valentin snorted, covering his mouth, and Muriel let out a sharp puff of air that might’ve been a laugh.

            Leaning back, Canis took up his pencil and paper again. “Sorry, Muriel—now you have to give him a cookie.”

            “Ahem,” Malak agreed, flapping onto Muriel’s shoulder and leaning down into the cookie jar.

            Muriel frowned. “He’s a carrion bird.”

            “That lives at a doctor’s office.” Valentin made a face. “…What exactly does Julian feed him?”

            “I think he usually feeds himself,” Canis admitted. “But I’ve seen Julian give him an egg before.”

            “Oh—” Fitting the lid back on the cookie jar when Malak refused to leave it alone, Valentin sat up. “Did you bring the eggs?”

            Muriel sighed. “…I forgot.”

            “He has chickens,” Valentin explained, when Canis gave him an inquisitive look.

            “I don’t have them,” Muriel grumbled. “They visit.”

            “I think we still have a few, anyway.” Kissing his hand, Valentin slid off the couch.

            “Chickens?” Canis lit up, then paused. “Do they…visit…on the full moon…?”

            Muriel didn’t answer, curling back into himself and petting Malak’s head.

            “Yes, they do,” Valentin answered from the pantry. “The chicks like to climb up his back and roll down his side.” Fishing out a large brown egg and a teacup, he came back to the couch, passing them to Muriel. “He’s very big, but he’s a marshmallow. Full moon or otherwise.”

            With a grunt, Muriel put the egg in the cup, offering it to Malak and glowering down at the cushions. Cocking his head back and forth, Malak pecked a hole in the shell, snapping up gooey bits of albumen with one foot clasped around the rim of the indigo-painted teacup.

            “Oh, good boy,” Canis cooed, watching him fondly.

            Malak looked up from his egg just long enough to chirp, “Good boy,” in return.

 

> _Julian –_
> 
> _I’ll bring the hocus-pocus, if you bring the wine._
> 
> _Maybe I’ll teach you a thing or two._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Canis (Major)_


	11. The Dog And The Sparrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Muriel really, really thought he was rid of the prim-and-proper magician that nursed him back to health.

            The mile-and-change through the woods wasn’t nearly as daunting in daylight, even where the thin, papery birches gave way to darker, denser, gnarled trunks. The huge tree sprawling over Muriel’s hut formed the darkest part of the canopy, thick branches blotting out almost all the midday sun. A soft breeze rustled the colossal oak’s leaves, like the forest heaving a sigh. The light that did filter through the trees winked on the small, deep-set windows of the hut as Valentin approached, picking his way up the gentle hill with two canvas bags slung over one shoulder. He started to knock, then though the better or it and peeked in the window in the front door. The bed was empty, the covers rumpled but mostly in-place, the fire on the hearth burning low and neglected.

            There was a scratching sound in the dirt. With a quiet _bup-bup-baw_ , a plump, brown-and-white hen pecked at the ground by his boot, foraging. While he watched, it fixed one beady eye on the shiny copper tip of his shoelace and lunged, tugging on it unsuccessfully.

            “Valentin?”

            He jumped, spooking the chicken. From behind the thick, weathered roots, Muriel stepped out, sliding a load of fresh-split firewood off one shoulder. Even at his size, he was hardly threatening, broad shoulders caving in around his chest and undermining him as a wall of powerful, scarred muscle. In the few fleeting moments he made eye contact, his eyes were soft and worried.

            The chicken skittered over to scratch around the grass by his heavy black boots, and he bent down to pick it up. “Did you…get lost again?”

            “Almost,” Valentin admitted, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “But you’re a lot easier to find in the daylight.”

            Holding the chicken in one arm while he stroked behind its wings, Muriel glanced at the treeline. “Did your…friend…come, too…?”

            “Canis? No.” This time, he did roll his eyes. “He spent all morning sobbing over a guy, so he’s recovering by planning a romantic picnic. With the same guy.” Sliding one of the hand-stitched canvas bags off his shoulder, Valentin showed off the contents—carrots, potatoes, a small wheel of cheese, some apples wrapped in cloth. “But I was running errands today and figured you might like having more around the house than eggs and a five-year-old can of crackers.”

            Sheepishly, reluctantly, Muriel let him in. The chicken made a break for the inside of the hut, but he blocked its advance with one foot, gathering up his wood and bringing it inside.

            Hanging his coat on the single chair, Valentin set the heavy bags on the table and propped open the rough-hewn hutch in the kitchen alcove. Muriel watched him from the doorway, holding the bundle of wood under one arm and hovering. Valentin had stocked a whole shelf in his barren cupboard before he spoke.

            “You don’t have to do this.”

            Pausing to roll up his sleeves, Valentin glanced at him. “I know.” Brushing the dust away from the next shelf with a scallop-hemmed handkerchief, he stacked it with tiny, colored-glass spice pots, turning each one so the labels faced out. “Do you want me to go?”

            Muriel started to answer, then caught sight of the spread on the table, the bundle of multicolored carrots, miniature baskets of fruit, fresh milk and butter in clean glass jars. He set down the wood by the fireplace, picking up a paper-wrapped loaf from a stack of half a dozen.

            “Pumpkin bread, raisin bread, and zucchini bread.” Cleaning off the bottom shelf, Valentin moved the overflowing basket of brown-and-white eggs to one side to make room for the root vegetables. “Two of each. Canis and Asra flutter their lashes at the baker every time we refresh his security-sigils, and now we get more bread in a week than we know what to do with.”

            Tentatively, Muriel pulled back a corner of the paper, sniffing the sweet, spicy braided loaf.

            “Go ahead.” Brushing dirt from the carrots off his hands, Valentin stopped to check his hair in the small window over the water pump, tucking a few flyaways back into his braids. “It’s the best in the city, and like I said, we have tons of it.”

            Hastily, Muriel dropped the bread, leaning away from the table. “…How do you know Asra?”

            “We live together.” Closing the hutch doors, Valentin went back to the table, emptying the bunch of apples from their wrappings and shaking out the dingy old scarf, green-and-white knit with every other stitch snagged and misshapen. He twisted it into a ring, and his hands glowed brilliant turquoise, the veined stoned in his rings shining like tiny stars. The old scarf lifted out of his hands, twirling faster and faster until the green wool changed into ceramic, the thin stripes of white blossoming into a pattern of white-glaze jasmine flowers. The decorative bowl landed softly on the tired, scratched-up kitchen table, and the apples floated into it on by one, forming a neat heap. Muriel watched, transfixed, intrigue unwrinkling his brow and lighting up his eyes with the barest hint of a smile.

            As quickly as it had come, it was gone; he glanced at Valentin, then buried his eyes in the floorboards again, mumbling, “Shouldn’t leave food out in the open. Not out here.”

            Valentin raised an eyebrow, unmoved. He could see the blush on scarred cheeks only partially-hidden by shaggy, unruly black hair, and he wasn’t fooled. “Really.”

            With an ambiguous grunt, Muriel turned away, shuffling back to the fireplace. “You can…go now.” Stoking the coals with the blackened end of a long, crude stick, he added, “Thank you.”

            “Okay.” Collapsing one of the canvas bags, Valentin started folding it neatly into a square. “I guess I’ll come back tomorrow to ask about the bite.”

            Without turning around, Muriel stiffened. “Bite.”

            “Canis picked up some kind of mark in the woods,” he went on, sticking the folded-up bag in his coat pocket and shaking out the other. “Asra thinks it might be connected to the attacks in town.” Muriel looked back over one shoulder, and he pretended not to notice, pulling his coat back on. “It can wait, though.” Valentin shrugged, fixing his cuffs. “I’ll just keep coming back until I get all my questions answered.”

            Muriel hesitated, then slunk back to the table, sitting on the edge of the bed with a grumble. “What does it look like?”

            “Here.” Valentin took a folded paper from his breast pocket and handed it over. While Muriel looked over Asra’s neat sketch of the wicked-looking bite, he took off his coat again and went back to the kitchenette. “I’ll put on some tea.”

            Dusty, dented, and disused, the kettle sat atop the hutch. While Valentin filled it with water and hung it from the blackened iron hook over the fire, Muriel frowned at the mark, an oblong ring of punctures like teeth around a four-pointed bruise. He looked out the window at the treeline, thinking.

            “Have you ever seen that before?” Stealing a chunk of wood from the pile, Valentin broke it magically into eight pieces, sculpting them one by one into a tea service made of polished, marbled wood—two cups, two saucers, and so on.

            “Not the bite. That.” Folding the paper around one calloused finger, Muriel showed him the four-pointed star. “The mark of the Devil.”

            “The Devil?” It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the name, not with the mutilations, with how many people had gone into the woods and never come out. There had always been legends, even before the horrors of the woods had begun creeping into the city. Deeper in the forest, where the trees thickened, the shadows lengthened, and the path was only a guess, there were monsters. Giant wolves, certainly, and birds big enough to blot out a full harvest moon—but the good ghost stories were all sharp, jagged teeth and eyes glowing from the underbrush, sometimes green or violet or yellow or pure white, most often brilliant bloodred, and watching, waiting, crouched in the darkness with vicious talons and hungry jaws. Valentin frowned, a wooden teacup hovering half-formed in one hand. “How would Canis run into the Devil without knowing it?”

            “He wouldn’t,” Muriel replied flatly, letting the paper fall to the table. “He’s lying.”

            “No,” Valentin shot back, just as flatly, finishing his wooden tea service. “Canis lies about bad hookups and sneaking out to gamble, not things that matter. If he saw the _Devil_ , he’d say something.”

            Hunched over on the bed, Muriel gave a disbelieving, very lupine snort. Valentin went over to the table, setting out the tea service piece by piece. “He wouldn’t. Try again.”

            Watching him, almost pouting, Muriel mumbled, “He saw something. Or he wouldn’t have that mark.”

            Reluctantly, Valentin picked up the paper again, smoothing it out and running a finger over the evenly-spaced punctures. “Do you recognize the teeth?”

            He tensed. “I didn’t do it.”

            “Oh, for—” Valentin rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? If you’d bitten him, he wouldn’t have a shoulder anymore. Muriel—” To both of their surprise, he laughed. “Trust me, you never even crossed my mind. Not like that, anyway.”

            He didn’t quite realize what he’d said until Muriel looked up, wide-eyed, and by then, it was too late to do anything but stare at each other and hope the firelight was too dim to show blush.

            Muriel was the first to look away, fiddling with the hem of his well-worn, faded linen shirt. “They’re not natural.” He made a face. “The teeth. If it’s not the Devil, it’s one of his demons.”

            “Demons?”

            “The forest is crawling with them.” A shadow passed over his face. “Has been for centuries.”

            “What does that mean for Canis?” Leaning on the table, teatime momentarily forgotten, Valentin wrinkled his nose. “Being…marked…by a demon?”

            Muriel didn’t answer at first, silent and still as a small mountain, eyes dark and clouded. Then he took a deep breath, looking out the window at the afternoon sunlight slanting golden across the trees. “…These woods are cursed. The more time you spend out here, the more it rubs off on you.”

            With the quirk of an eyebrow, Valentin studied him, huddled and forlorn on the bed despite all his efforts to be gruff and brooding. “So that’s why you don’t want me around. You’re not just a big, grumpy lapdog. You’re being considerate.”

            “Big, grumpy monster,” Muriel corrected.

            “Oh, so what?” Checking on the kettle, Valentin sat next to him on the bed, not too close, but close enough to feel the warmth of his skin, smell the rainwater and warm, damp earth of the forest depths. “Humans call me a witch for making them charms that keep their homes safe and their families healthy. Humans evicted me when my parents died of the plague. All monsters have ever done is leave a few dead cows in my city center, and I didn’t even have to clean it up.”

            “Monsters would’ve killed you if I hadn’t found you,” Muriel muttered. “On the full moon.”

            “But you did find me,” Valentin countered. “And clearly not because of your deep love and admiration for humanity.”

            Muriel snorted.

            “All I’m saying is,” Valentin added, moving a hand closer, but not touching him just yet. “You’re a monster, but you don’t roar and scream and cut up livestock, and I just spent three days hand-feeding you soup and sleeping on your chest.”

            With a grumpy noise in the back of his throat, Muriel turned bright red, pushing off the bed and fleeing to the fireplace, a good twenty seconds before the kettle started to whistle. “…Your water’s ready.”


	12. The Raven*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As it happens, Canis isn't the only one who likes a bite now and then.

            “No, that’s your _sun_ sign.” Crossing his arms, Canis waited while Julian fumbled for his key. “Your  _rising_ sign has to do with the _time_ you were born. It’s more…the world’s reaction to you. Not just who you are.”

            Holding open the back door, Julian gestured him up the stairs. “And that would be?”

            “Between nine and ten at night while the sun is in Pisces…” Canis had sketched out so many charts with the aid of his huge, purple-and-gold star-book he knew the thing by rote. “Libra.” Hiking up the narrow spiral stairs to the rooms above the office, he tossed their much-loved picnic-and-stargazing blanket onto the tired, saggy leather couch and fell backward onto it. “Charming, persuasive…”

            “Oh?” Stripping off his coat and tossing it on the sun-bleached armchair piled with more discarded clothes, Julian dropped onto the couch next to him, stretching out between him and the cushions, one leg hanging off the end by about a foot. “Are you sure you’ve got your times right?”

            “Indecisive,” Canis went on pointedly, sitting up and straddling his hips. “Bad with relationships.”

            “That sounds more like it.” Unlacing his boots with one hand, Julian leaned up to kiss him, running the other hand up his back.

            “Gentle, too.” Softly, Canis cupped his cheeks, brushing the hair back from his eyes, arching his back ever so slightly to grind against his lap. “And accommodating.”

            “Ah, but you already knew that.” Trailing kisses down his neck, Julian was careful to avoid the bite. “Remember?”

            “So you said.” Undoing his cravat in one swift pull, Canis nudged open his collar, tracing over the skin of his throat before nipping under his jaw. Julian shivered, stifling a moan in his shoulder. Undoing the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat, Canis murmured, “But you have yet to really prove it.”

            Slipping both hands under his blouse, Julian felt up his sides, soft leather fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps across his ribs. “Oh, please—” Kissing the hollow of his neck, messier and more insistent, Julian mumbled, “Please—”

            “Please?” Tipping his face up with two fingers, Canis ground lower and harder on his lap. “Do you want to?”

            “I—ohh—” Pressing into his hand, Julian sucked on the tips of his fingers, hips rolling up from the couch.

            “Julian.” Pulling his hand away, Canis caught his head, holding him up and looking him firmly in the eye. “Do you want this?”

            “I do,” he panted, pawing at Canis’ back, straining to kiss him. “I do, I—” He paused, then his face fell, and he let out his breath, arms going limp around Canis’ waist. “I do,” he said again, this time without desperation. “There’s…something I have to tell you, first.”

            “What is it?” Canis asked, trying and failing not to jump to the wildest possible conclusions.

            Sliding off the couch, Julian brushed himself off, tossing his boots into the corner. “I need you to promise—well, I supposed I really can’t ask that of you—” Undoing the rest of his buttons, he hesitated, shirt falling open to the dusting of dark red hair across his chest and the pendant of his necklace, a sharp, curved tooth the size of a raspberry, deep white-veined amethyst carved with a sigil. “I—I never meant—it’s just—” Floundering, he sighed, shoulders sinking. “Well—you’ll see.”

            Before Canis could ask, there was a sound like the wind hitting a sail, and the necklace fell to the floor. Blue-black wings unfurled from Julian’s back, identical in shape to Malak’s, but impossibly huge, longer than he was tall, primary feathers brushing the walls at either end of the room. As Canis watched, he pulled off his gloves, burying his face in his hands. More feathers covered his forearms, black, scaly patches interrupting the pale skin of his wrists and hands, and his nails were talons—curved, hard, sharp, and pitch-black.

            “Oh, Julian…” While it certainly hadn’t been what he expected, Canis had one too many demon-bites and werewolves coming to tea to be completely gobsmacked. Pushing off the couch, he gently guided Julian’s hands away from his face, laying a hand on his chest. “…Is that it?”

            “Is that—” Julian stare at him, wings drawing in again. “What were you expecting?”

            “Not this,” Canis admitted, sliding an arm around his waist. More feathers, softer and shorter like those on his arms, covered his back. “I understand why you reacted the way you did, but…this isn’t so bad.”

            “We were in public, and—” Wincing, Julian ran a hand over his cheek, careful to keep the sharp tips of his nails off the skin. “The, uh, necklace—it only hides them, so I don’t have to wear a bedsheet everywhere—” He laughed ruefully, avoiding Canis’ eyes. “I didn’t—wasn’t sure how you’d feel, grabbing a handful of feathers.”

            “It would’ve been a surprise.” Kissing his cheek, Canis stroked between his shoulder blades, feeling the powerful muscles attachments shudder. “I’m glad we waited ‘til you felt comfortable telling me—but this doesn’t change anything.”

            Looking down at him, Julian raised an eyebrow. “No?”

            Holding his gaze, Canis shoved a hand down the front of his trousers, biting his lip. “Any more feathers I should know about?”

            Julian gasped, cheeks reddening as he leaned into Canis’ palm. “N-no—”

            Leaning up to kiss him, one hand wrapped around his nape, Canis licked across his bottom lip, drawing out a long moan. Suddenly, everything went dark and a few degrees warmer, as the huge black wings wrapped around them reflexively. Pressed to Julian’s chest, Canis giggled. “That’s fun.”

            “Sorry, sorry—” Folding them away against his back, Julian huffed. “It’s, uh—you may have to tie them down.”

            Perking up, Canis pulled the hand out of his pants, teasing up his shaft with two fingers as he did so. “ _Re_ ally?”

            Julian shivered, blush spreading down his chest, pulling Canis close by the small of his back. “…if I ask nicely?”

            “Mm…” Tasting his fingers, Canis trailed them across Julian’s chest, heading to the bedroom. “We’ll see…”

 -

            As it happened, the mechanics of rolling into bed with someone sporting twenty-odd feet of wings weren’t nearly as complicated as anticipated. They adjusted swiftly and automatically when Canis pushed him down on the rumpled covers, tucking out of the way as he straddled Julian’s waist, untying his petal-pink top so it fell off him in a cascade of ribbons. The ropes, three thick coils of red silk hidden away in the battered nightstand, were waiting, in case he needed them.

            Already panting, Julian ran a hand up his stomach, teasing at a rose-quartz nipple-stud with his thumb, and Canis gasped, grabbing a handful of his own hair. Flicking his tongue over the other pink-studded barbell, Julian tugged at his belt, a bright scrap of purple satin knotted around his hips. Breathlessly, Canis arched his back, pushing his hips forward. “Go ahead.”

            Sharp talons made quick work of the tight knots, and the belt and pants fell loose around Canis’ waist. Before he could get any further, though, Canis pushed him away, his back bouncing on the mattress, and leaned low over his chest, kissing behind his ear. “So,” he murmured, tracing patterns on Julian’s chest. “What do you like, Doctor?” Grinding in his lap, he felt Julian’s cock twitch against his ass, and giggled. “Is that what you like to be called?”

            “Not usually,” Julian admitted, flushed red to the tips of his ears. “A-a little of this, a little of that…” Rubbing Canis’ thighs, he shivered. “If, uh, ‘this’ is torture and humiliation, and ‘that’ is…pain.”

            Eyes lighting up, Canis took a handful of his hair, tangling his fingers in the dark red curls. “Is that so?” Julian’s breath quickened in anticipation, and he gave a yank, stomach fluttering when Julian let out a moan, eyes rolling back. “Oh, my…”

            “S-so a little of this,” Julian corrected, squirming underneath him, “a _lot_ of that.”

            Canis twisted his hair, and he groaned again, pawing blindly at the front of Canis’ pants. “What about talking?” Kissing down his neck, Canis nipped at the thin skin behind his ear. “Do you like to ask for what you want?”

            “I’ll beg—” Eagerly, Julian kissed him, over and over, licking desperately into his mouth. “I’ll beg—I’ll say anything you want me to say—”

            “Oh, I see…” Pulling away teasingly, Canis bit his lip. “You’ll beg?”

            “Yes—yes—” Whimpering, Julian peppered his chest with kisses, plucking gently at both barbells. “I’ll—I’ll do anything—”

            “Oh—” Shuddering, Canis dug his nails into Julian’s arms, eyelids fluttering. “Anything?” Face buried in his chest, Julian could only moan to the affirmative, hands sliding down the back of Canis’ pants and cupping his ass. “You want me to bite you?” Again, he moaned, grip tightening. “Scratch you?” His hips shuddered up from the bed, the front of his trousers tented and damp. “Hit you?” Julian’s head lolled back helplessly, one clawed hand flying to his throat. Canis perked up. “Oh, is that what you want?” Smacking Julian’s hand away, he wrapped his fingers around the base of his throat, guiding him onto his back with only the smallest effort, every muscle taut and quivering under his palm. “Do you want me to _choke_ you?”

            Whining in the back of his throat, Julian pawed at his sides, and Canis shook his head. “No, you said you would beg…”

            “Nn—please—” Spine arching up from the mattress, Julian tugged on his own hair. “Please—”

            “Oh, you can do better than that,” Canis cooed, giving a gentle squeeze.

            Breath hitching, Julian stammered, “Please—please—please choke me, god, please—I-I’ll be good—”

            “Mm, you _are_ good, Julian…” Pressing tightly on the sides of his neck, Canis let out a soft gasp, watching him writhe and buck on the sheets. “So sweet and polite.”

            Julian went totally limp when he let go, groaning into the pillow. Slipping off his pants, Canis rolled to one side, yanking him up by the hair. Obediently, Julian straddled him, kissing him messily and smoothing his hair, his knees tight on Canis’ hips. Feeling his face while Julian kissed fervidly down his chest, Canis laughed. “Sweet boy, are you drooling?”

            Julian froze, peeking up worriedly through his lashes. “I-I’m sorry—”

            “Oh, no, no…” Wiping the saliva from his cheek, Canis smeared it across Julian’s mouth. “You’re so cute…so eager to please…”

            “Mm-hmm—” His mouth fell open, reaching for Canis’ fingers as they passed.

            “Like a little puppy.” A shiver ran down his spine in a visible tremor of feathers, and Canis smiled. “You like that? ‘Puppy’?”

            “N—n—” Swallowing, Julian felt up Canis’ thigh, palming his cock shyly. “N-never—been called that—before—”

            “ _Oh—_ ” Sharply, Canis slapped his hand away. “I didn’t _say_ you could touch.” Sitting up, he undid Julian’s belt, yanking his pants partly down his thighs. “Been called what?”

            “Hah—” Julian grabbed handfuls of the sheets when Canis pulled his cock free of his trousers, hard and dribbling on the tousled covers.

            Stroking him with agonizing slowness, Canis murmured, “Do you like it?”

            “Hn—”

            “Say it.”

            Moaning, Julian kissed him passionately; abruptly, Canis yanked him away by the hair. “Bad puppy. I didn’t say you could _touch_.”

            Twisting in his grip, Julian let out a whine, thrusting into his hand.

            “Say it,” Canis coaxed in a singsong voice, releasing his cock and running his slick hand over Julian’s stomach.

            “I—like it—” Julian sobbed, squirming when Canis let him go. “I-I’m yours—your puppy—”

            “ _Good_ boy…” Lying back and pulling him down by the nape, Canis bit into his shoulder, sucking the trembling muscle ‘til he left a dark bruise. “Do you want to touch?”

            “Yes—yes—” Rocking earnestly against his hips, Julian tried to wipe his watering mouth on his shoulder, groaning into the bruised spot. “Please let me get you off—please—use me—”

            “Show me.” Nails digging into the back of his neck, Canis forced two fingers into his mouth, wet and hungry, driving in up to the knuckle. Clenching handfuls of the sheets, Julian sucked on him with choking, wanton moans, a thin trickle of saliva running off his chin, dotting on Canis’ chest. Curling on the bedspread, Canis panted, “Oh, sweet boy…you’re so desperate…oh, you make me _so_ hard—” Pressing his cock into Julian’s thigh and stroking himself with his free hand, he gasped. “So needy…I j-just want to sit on your cute little face…”

            Shuddering, Julian surged forward, forcing Canis’ fingers to the back of his throat ‘til he gagged. “Oh?” Dragging his nails down Julian’s thigh, Canis bit his lip. “Would you like that, puppy? You want to suck me off?”

            “Mm-hmm—mm-hmm—”

            “Want me to use you, fuck your mouth ‘til I’m done with you?”

            Whining around his fingers, Julian nodded.

            “Do you want to swallow my cum?” Licking his lips, Canis fondled one gold-pierced nipple. “Or do you want it on your face, messy boy?”

            Rutting against his hips, Julian let out a muffled wail.

            Yanking his fingers away, Canis shoved him down onto the bed, straddling his shoulders and forcing into his mouth with a long, indulgent sigh, rubbing his own thighs eagerly. Pinned to the sheets, Julian sucked on him happily, laving over the soft skin with his tongue, his chin and chest glistening with drool and precum.

            “G-good—boy—” Bouncing on his chest, Canis felt movement behind him and glanced over one shoulder. One of Julian’s hands was still tangled in the covers, the other palming blindly at his cock. Frowning, Canis clamped his heels around Julian’s arms, wrenching a handful of his hair. “Don’t touch yourself, puppy—” he panted, between the spine-curling waves from the mouth working around him. Catching Julian’s hand on the second try, he guided the long, grabbing talons to the small of his back, holding them gently in place. “You t-tap me—if you want—to stop—” He gasped for breath, quivering from the strain of holding himself together. “O-one for yes, two for n-no—three f-for—stop—understand?”

            One light tap against his back. Throwing back his head, he cried out, shivering all over. “J-just like that—”

            Low, heady moans vibrating in his chest, Julian’s head bobbed, taking him deeper, throat tightening around him.

            “G-good boy—oh, good—fuck—oh, J-Julian—” Back arching, hands buried in his own hair, Canis fucked ravenously into his mouth until his head dropped back, hips twitching uncontrollably as he came with a long cry, all over Julian’s face. Dropping back onto his elbows, he watched with hooded eyes as Julian licked his face clean, chest heaving, wiping the cum off his cheek and lapping it off his palm in between ragged breaths.

            “Don’t get up, puppy,” he breathed, and Julian went obediently flat on the sheets. Moving down to straddle his lap, Canis ground back against his cock, relishing the feeling of long, hard, and pulsing between his ass cheeks while Julian sobbed and writhed against him. With a flick of his hand, glowing golden cuffs materialized around Julian’s wrists, a delicate magical tether drawing his arms up and over his head, even less give than an ordinary chain when he tugged on it. Raking his nails down Julian’s chest, Canis eased down onto his cock with a sharp, lascivious gasp. “Mm…I’m not done with you, yet.”

 -

            It was a while before Julian could talk again, head nestled on Canis’ chest, wings spread out behind him like a fallen angel in a Renaissance painting. Mostly, he traced gentle patterns around the splash of freckles on Canis’ chest, making soft, croaky noises of acknowledgement while Canis stroked his hair and murmured his praises, the sheets around them still damp with sweat and everything else. Taking a deep breath, Julian ran a hand over the long red welts carved into his chest and smiled.

            “Are you alright?” Kissing the top of his head, Canis hooked the escaping comforter with his foot and pulled it up around them. “Do you need anything?”

            “On the contrary.” Curling around him, Julian sighed. “I could die right here.”

            Shaking his head, Canis played with his fingers, subtly examining the patches of tough, scaly black on the pads of his fingers, palm, and wrist. “So, not too bad, then…”

            “That was…” With a residual shiver and a rustle of feathers, Julian kissed under his jaw. “Intense, for a first go. Not to mention I’m an, uh, unconventional partner, even for someone with experience.”

            “I have a _lot_ of experience.” Canis kissed his palm. “You might be toward the top of the list, but…I’ve done unconventional before.”

            “Aha.” Trailing one hand over his stomach a little lamentingly, Julian snorted. “Sometimes I miss being closer to the bottom—pun absolutely intended.”

            Exasperated, Canis giggled, reaching over to pet the blue-black feathers covering his back. Julian tensed against him, wings folding in, and he stopped. “I’m sorry.”

            “No, no, it’s alright.” Julian kissed behind his ear. “I don’t mind.”

            Carefully, Canis felt over his back. The feathers along his spine were downier and softer, the wings stiffer and glossy, primaries as long as his arm. Where they grew from his shoulder blades, the muscle attachments were tight, knotted, and powerful. Marveling at them, Canis asked, “So you haven’t always been..." For the life of him, he couldn't think of a word, not one that encompassed everything. "...like this?”

            “No.” It wasn’t curt, just quiet.

            Pulling his hand away, Canis snuggled into the pillows—and one wing unfolded, draping over them both like a blanket. He smiled. “You really _don’t_ mind the petting.”

            “Mm…” Grinning into his shoulder, Julian wrapped an arm around his waist. “I don’t get much attention there, for obvious reasons.”

            “I see.” Canis resumed stroking between his shoulders, feeling him melt into the mattress.

            “Seven years,” Julian said into the crook of his neck, dulcet voice sending the slightest tingle through his bite.

            “You don’t have to tell me.” Canis kissed the side of his head. “Not if you don’t want to.”

            “No, I, I told myself I’d give you an explanation.” Julian closed his eyes. “If you didn’t run screaming the moment I showed you.”

            “You’re not that scary,” Canis declared, hooking one leg over his hip. “Just a big, skinny bird-man.”

            Laughing, Julian relaxed into him. “It’s…a curse. Years ago, when the plague swept through from the west…” A somber hollowness crept into his voice. “I have a sister. She’s probably around your age. She caught a septic strain—much faster than the common plague, more, ah—more lethal.” Taking his hand, Julian took a breath. “By the time she was showing symptoms, there was nothing I could do. I was lost, desperate. I tracked down something…otherworldly, to help me save her. They said it would cost me everything that made me human, but…it seemed like a small price to pay.”

            It felt like he wanted to say more, or wanted Canis to say something, but instead, it just hung in the air.

            “She’s alive,” he went on after a long moment. “She’ll live a long, healthy life. That’s what matters.”

            Thinking, Canis played with his curls. “…Well, it could’ve been much worse.” Shrugging, he scooted down to lay his head on Julian’s chest. “Humanity has its perks, but it’s a little overrated.”

            Julian hesitated, then laughed, freely and relieved. “Oh, well, in that case.”

            “I’ve done my fair share of rituals,” Canis pointed out, teasing at the hair on his chest. “You could’ve lost your heart, your mind, been forced to sacrifice some poor animal…” Nuzzling into Julian’s neck, he sighed. “You’re still kind, intelligent…handsome…”

            “From the front, at least,” Julian muttered ruefully.

            “ _I_ don’t think so.” Wiggling one arm out from under the huge black wing, Canis ran a hand over the coverts. “You may not like them, but I think your wings are gorgeous.” He gasped suddenly, looking up at Julian, who’d flushed bright red again. “Can you fly?”

            He made a face. “Sure, but I really don’t—I mean, not usually—”

            “Would you show me, sometime?” Eagerly, Canis pawed at his chest. “I can hide you with magic—you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone else seeing.”

            Biting his lip, Julian frowned. “This…really doesn’t bother you.”

            Softly, Canis kissed him, breathing in the warm smell of old leather, comforting as the gentle hands on his back. Lips pressed to Julian’s cheek, he smiled. “You’ll have to try a lot harder to scare me.”

            “In that case, my dear, daring magician.” Melting into him, Julian kissed his temple. “It would be my pleasure.”


	13. The Brave Little Tailor*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the full moon approaching, Asra has a hell of a time keeping tabs on his housemates.

            Toes curling, one hand fisted in Valentin’s hair, Asra came with a shudder and a cry muffled by the beaded curtains in the front corner of the shop. Usually tied back with multicolored tassels to show off the round wood-paneled nook they used for readings tarot, palm, and astrological, one blue-velvet drape was pulled shut, the other balled up and clamped in Asra’s teeth while he rocked on the purple-cushioned bench seat, Valentin’s face buried between his legs.

            Swallowing and resting his head against Asra’s thigh, Valentin felt around his waistband for a handkerchief, cleaning off his face and gently extracting Asra’s fingers from his hair. “You just can’t resist, can you?”

            Spitting out the curtain, Asra grinned weakly, shaking a few long, silky black strands off his fingers. “Oops.”

            Valentin sat back on the facing bench, folding the handkerchief back into his hip pocket. “I even put it in a bun to keep it out of your way.”

            “Oh, well.”

            “ _Not_ ‘oh, well’.” Leaning across the booth to kiss him, Valentin smoothed the beaded skirts bunched around his hips back into place. “Would you let _me_ off that easy?”

            “You tease too much.” Draping both arms around his neck, Asra nuzzled under his jaw, fluffy white curls tickling his ear. “I lose track of what I’m doing.”

            “Uh-huh.” Scooping him up in a pile of skirts and glass-beaded necklaces, Valentin carried him through the shop to the house. “Get the door.”

            With a soft hum of assent, Asra drew a lazy curve in the air with two fingers. The shop door eased shut with a jingle of assorted bells, the lock slid into place, and sparks of lilac and white etched _OUT TO LUNCH_ in block letters on the picture-window glass.

            Valentin carried him into the bathroom, setting him carefully on the counter and calling up warm water from the sink with a wisp of brilliant turquoise. While he folded Asra’s skirts back, cleaning him off with a petal-pink washcloth, Asra reached up and let his hair out of its somewhat-frazzled bun, falling past his shoulders. Valentin winced, hesitated, but Asra kept running his fingers through the dark curtain, murmuring, “I know how you do it…”

            “I can do it when I’m done taking care of you,” Valentin mumbled, drying him off and fixing and re-fixing his clothes.

            “When are you ever ‘done’ taking care of someone?” With a laugh, Asra held out a hand expectantly. “I don’t have all day.’

            Begrudgingly passing him the small copper box of hair pins, Valentin turned around to let him braid. “Have it your way.”

            There were exactly three people he trusted with his hair—two living—and even then, having it braided made his hands nervous. He plaited and re-plaited sometimes three (four) times a day, could do it blindfolded, drunk, one-handed, or in his sleep, and when other people did it, the braids were too big, too small, too tight, or just plain uneven. But Asra’s work was hard to argue with, his fingers quick and light and confident.

            “Are you going out to the woods today?” he asked, pausing to pick four pins out of the little copper case.

            Valentin could hear the impending lecture as clearly as he was sure Asra could hear the latent eye-roll. “Maybe.”

            “Hm.” Casually and pointedly at the same time, Asra pinned two neat, identical braids in place. “Tonight’s the full moon.”

            “I know.” Valentin raised an eyebrow. “I’d be a shitty magician if I wasn’t up on that kind of thing.”

            “Just…don’t be surprised if Muriel’s a little…” Holding two more pins in his mouth, Asra tried again, a little muffled. “If he wants to be alone.”

            “I have no doubt he does.” Doing his best to keep still, Valentin fiddled with his sleeves, unrolling the cuffs and straightening them. “I’m not trying to get in his way, and unlike some people, I have no interested in taking my chances outside at night—” He rolled his eyes. “I’m going there preemptively, so he’s not alone in the morning.”

            Finishing his hair, Asra turned him around, brows vexed and smile pained. “You can’t go up tomorrow morning?”

            Gently, Valentin ran a hand over his soft white hair, looking deep into his brilliant violet eyes, and shook his head.

            Asra sighed. “Stubborn.”

            Valentin shrugged. “Taurus.”

            “Canis isn’t here.” Hopping off the counter, Asra breezed past him and lit the stove with a flick of his hand. “You can leave the stars out of it.”

            Trailing behind him, Valentin snorted. “I can show you my head-line, but it says the same thing.”

            Conjuring a stream of water from thin air, Asra guided it into the kettle. “I think I’m pretty familiar with your palm.”

            “You know.” Pulling up one of the long-legged chairs on the other side of the kitchen island, Valentin tapped absently on the countertop. “Neither you nor Muriel has told me how you know each other.” He frowned. “Or why you’ve never mentioned him before.”

            Shaking tea leaves into a daisy-painted teapot, Asra swallowed, and his eyes clouded with the kind of long, somber look that always preceded something delicate, cryptic, painful, or all three. “We met…a long time ago.” So he’d settled on cryptic. “Before his curse.” Turning to give the flames on the stove a little magical encouragement, he shrugged. “We were both alone.”

            Valentin waited, watched him set out cups and saucers and check on the kettle. “…Do I have to ask again, or is that all I get?”

            “A lot of it isn’t mine to tell.” With a pained expression, Asra shook his head. “Muriel’s—”

            “Private.”

            “Closed-off,” Asra finished instead, rolling his eyes. “I’d say he doesn’t open up to many people, but he doesn’t open up to anyone. I used to visit him more, before the plague, but then he was never home when a visited, and then he asked me to stop coming altogether.” His face fell, staring distantly down into the tea leaves. “After he changed, he’s been isolating himself more and more—opening up to you is a big step.”

            “I wouldn’t say he’s opened up to me. I think he just tolerates me.” Valentin frowned. “Before the plague? You went out to the forest by yourself and you were, what, seventeen?”

            “It…wasn’t like it is now.” Avoiding his eyes, Asra checked the kettle again. “There wasn’t even a giant wolf yet.”

            “There are still _regular_ wolves.” Valentin countered, studying him. “Bears…huge stretches of trees with no landmarks…”

            Asra still wouldn’t look at him. “It was before you and Canis moved in. I didn’t have anyone else.” The kettle finally started spitting out steam, and he poured hot water into the teapot. “You should go before it gets dark, if you’re going. And—” He winced, reaching for Valentin’s hand and holding it tight. “Don’t—try to—I mean, you might see—”

            Squeezing his hand, Valentin leaned across the counter to kiss him through the sweet-smelling steam from the teapot. “I’ll be careful.”

 -

            Tiptoeing through the shop, carrying his boots, Canis peeked through the round little window in the door to the adjoining house. The absence of the plum-colored frock coat and goldenrod-wool scarf on the coat tree told him Valentin had already left for the day, likely to run every errand that kept the shop afloat before running off to see Muriel. But Asra never wore a coat, and though there were shoes on the mat, he often went out without shoes. Canis pressed a hand to the door, feeling through the weathered wood with his magic for the bright, white pop of Asra’s aura, concentrating so hard he didn’t hear the bell on the shop door behind him.

            “Good night?”

            Canis jumped, whirling around and pressing his back to the door. Asra set the heavy, green-and-pink canvas bag they used for deliveries on the shop counter, taking a full, jingling purse out of the folds of his skirts. “Midmorning, yesterday’s clothes…” Counting coins on the counter, he smirked. “This is more like you.”

            “I _did_ have a good night.” Nonchalantly, Canis went over to hang up the delivery bag, opening the till for the money. “Thank you for asking.”

            Hopping up to sit on the counter, Asra swung his legs absently as he counted. “I see you slept with him.”

            Canis sniffed. “You only know I stayed the night.”

            “You have a feather in your hair.”

            “Oh—” Feeling for it, Canis froze. “…You know?”

            Asra rolled his eyes, plucking the stubby black covert out of his messy bun. “Who do you think gave him that charm?”

            “The necklace?” He hadn’t inspected the white-veined amethyst tooth Julian wore to hide his wings for traces of magic, but it made sense; there was a whole rack of charms on black cords Asra had made hanging in the shop. Canis had seen—and helped—him enchant them dozens of times.

            “Ilya came to me after he was cursed.” Emptying out the purse, Asra let him take over counting. “He wanted it reversed, but I don’t have that kind of power…I told him the best I could do was help him hide it.” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve seen his wingspan. He showed up to the shop covered in a sheet—he even asked to have them clipped so they wouldn’t drag on the ground.”

            Horrified, Canis covered his mouth. “You didn’t let him do that, did you?”

            “Of course not.” Asra shook his head. “And I told him, mutilating himself wouldn’t make him feel any better. He needed to come to terms with what he’d done, not destroy himself over it. I only agreed to help him hide so he could still practice medicine without frightening anyone.”

            “I don’t think he’s that scary,” Canis muttered, dropping coins into the till.

            “He’s not, but that doesn’t make a difference.” Looking down at the counter, Asra sighed. “Humans always attack what they don’t understand. Ilya wouldn’t hurt a fly if it tied him down and begged for it, but…he’s still a monster.”

            “I don’t think a single person could see Julian and think he’s dangerous,” Canis countered, frowning.

            “A single person wouldn’t,” Asra agreed. Reaching behind the counter, he took the hand-bound ledger our from under the till, flipping it open. “But a mob, feeding off rumors, in times like these? They won’t wait to see if he’s dangerous.”

            “Is that why you didn’t want me seeing him?” Closing the till, Canis gave him a hurt look. “You think I’ll go around telling everyone what he is?”

            “What?” Shocked, Asra looked up from the ledger. “I never told you not to see him. And I know you wouldn’t do that.”

            Canis crossed his arms. “Then why all the eye-rolls and dirty looks? ‘Ilya’s flighty’, ‘don’t take him seriously’, trying to get rid of him when he came to apologize?” He gave a huff. “You know, the way you talk to him—”

            “Canis—” Setting the ledger aside, Asra scooted closer to him on the counter. “Ilya’s never shown anyone but me what he is. That’s why he’s always at sea, why he pushes people away…But he’s such a hopeless, birdbrained romantic, I was worried he’d get in over his head with you and panic—which he did,” he added, pointedly, quirking one white brow. “I didn’t want you to get hurt because he can’t accept responsibility for his actions.” With a sigh, he reached for Canis’ hands, kissing them sheepishly. “I guess I underestimated you. I’m sorry.”

            “You did.” Pulling his hands away, Canis sat next to him on the counter. “I was going to ask why you didn’t tell me, but…I’m glad I heard it from him.”

            “It’s not mine to tell.” Fidgeting on the counter, Asra laid his head on Canis’ shoulder. “And I’m assuming you took it alright, since, well…” He held up the feather, smirking and twirling it between his fingers.

            In spite of himself, Canis smiled, burying his face in Asra’s silky-soft hair. “I think he ‘took it’ better than I did…in a manner of speaking.”

            Asra laughed. “Yeah, that’s Ilya.”


	14. Fitcher's Bird

             The light warming the front windows of the clinic was sleepy orange, the sun low over the rooftops when Canis pushed open the door. The bell tinkled when he came in, but Malak wasn’t on the perch to greet him. The front room was empty, though all the lamps were burning, and the chair was pushed away from the lab bench as though only recently abandoned. Canis wrinkled his nose at the scent hanging in the air, hot and acrid like burning hair. On the lab bench, a flask clamped over a single-chimney burner gave off evil-smelling vapor as it slowly blackened over the flame, its contents long-evaporated.

             Canis frowned, summoning up a plume of golden mist to put out the flame and whisk away the smell. “Julian?”

             There was no answer, just a few creaks of the old house settling, and the distant sound of running water. Casting one more glance around the empty clinic, Canis started up the stairs. “Julian…?”

             The bedroom was in disarray, but no more than usual. The burnt-medicine smell hadn’t made it upstairs, and the bedsheets kicked and twisted into a heap on the mattress, the clothes spilling out of the wardrobe, the bent black feathers littering the weathered floorboards had the warm, comforting scent of leather, clean cotton, and something a little funny, dusty, and birdy. Across the room, the door to the kitchen was cracked, lamplight spilling into the bedroom, the sound of water splashing from inside.

             He went to push the door open, and a croaky voice made him jump.

             “Ah-ah-ah.”

             Bobbing up and down on the pantry doorknob, Malak fixed him with one beady eye. “Ah-ah-ah.”

             Canis was about to ask when something crunched under his boot. He looked down.

             The floor was covered in glass shards and crumbles in multiple colors. Now that he was close enough, he could hear Julian muttering under the water _ping_ ing into the sink basin, and the occasional tinkle of more glass. Gingerly, sweeping a path clear on the floor with a flick of his hand, Canis eased around the door into the kitchen.

             Julian leaned heavily on the counter by the sink, grappling with one wing, the other held away from him and quivering with the effort of staying half-extended. Glittering between the shiny black feathers were more bits of glass. Julian combed through the feathers with his talons, and not delicately, more than once yanking out feathers along with the shards of glass and throwing the whole mess to the floor. Blood ran down his wings in tiny rivulets, dripping onto the floorboards.

             “Oh, my g—” Canis’ hand flew to his mouth. Julian started, feathers puffing up in alarm, though he relaxed as soon as he saw Canis, wincing as feathers settled back into place, shoulders slumping shamefully.

             “Oh, darling…what happened?” Rushing over to him, Canis reached out to help, but didn’t touch, unsure where to start.

             “I was working,” Julian mumbled, shying away from his hand and digging out a shard of bottle-green with his claws. “I—I dozed off, then jerked awake—you know how that happens, when you feel like you’re falling?” He grimaced, throwing the glass and two feathers to the floor. “Damned things took out the whole shelf behind me.” One bloody feather stuck to his fingers, and he shook furiously to get it off, flinging it away and burying his face in his hands. The scaly patches seemed to have spread—his fingers were completely black, now, the backs of his hands and wrists banded like Malak’s legs.

             “Careful…” Touching his shoulder, Canis took the damp, blood-spotted towel hanging over the sink and dabbed gently at one of the bloody spots, greyish skin plucked bare. “You’re tearing out your feathers.”

             He flinched. “Fine.”

             “No, it’s not—” Leaning around him to rinse out the rag, Canis saw more grey patches on his forearms, plucked bald despite the absence of glass or blood. A lump rose in his throat, but he tried to ignore it, using the damp rag as a barrier to work more glass bits out of Julian’s wing.

             “Oh, let—let me do that—” Drawing his wing in closer, Julian made a face. “My, uh, my hands—you’ll get cut. I won’t.”

             Reluctantly, Canis let him take over, shaking out the rag and moving on to the other wing. When Julian looked up to protest, he sniffed. “Oh, don’t. You’re huge. If you don’t let me get the big pieces, it’ll take all night.”

             Julian didn’t argue, and he didn’t pull so roughly at his feathers anymore, working out the bits of broken beakers and flasks with the very tips of his talons. They were quiet for moment while they worked, and not comfortably so. Canis tried to catch his eye a few times, but Julian didn’t look up, eyes clouded and far away.

             “You know,” Canis said after a minute or two, chirpy with forced lightness, “I was coming by to see if you might take me flying tonight.” Cleaning off the blood drying on the long, stiff primaries, he stroked them affectionately. “I know we talked about waiting ‘til the full moon, so you can see better, and we’d be safe at Muriel’s—he has protective sigils _everywhere_.” He winced, looking over the raggedy wet mess of Julian’s wings. “Maybe another night.”

             Julian didn’t answer.

             “Maybe tomorrow?” Frowning, Canis stopped working. “The moon’s still full—if you’re feeling better?”

             “Maybe.” His throat sounded dry, scratchy. He cleared it. “I heal fast.”

             “Julian.”

             He looked up, somber eyes and a face so miserable Canis had to toss the rag aside and duck under his wing to hold him, slipping an arm around his neck and touching his cheek. Julian only slumped back on the counter, arms hanging limply at his sides. His cheeks were bloodless, pallid, dark, pitted shadows under his eyes. Canis kissed him, softly, and he didn’t resist.

             “It’s okay,” Canis murmured, tucking a dull red curl behind his ear. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

             His voice was hoarse, thready. “I don’t want to.”

             “Why not?”

             “Fly.” Julian swallowed, looking down at the floor. “…I don’t want to. I—I can’t be outside without—” Mechanically, he felt for the necklace that wasn’t there, shivering. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”

             “No one will see you.” Stroking his hair, Canis kissed his forehead. “We’ll go to Muriel’s. I already asked.”

             Shrinking, he shook his head. “I don’t want you to see me, either—I-I know you don’t mind, but—”

             _I do._ He didn’t need to say it. Running a hand over one of his wings, the coverts mussed and sticking out at odd angles, Canis tried not to look at the blood pooling where the primaries dragged on the ground, feeling sick. “Julian, you didn’t—did you hurt yourself on purpose?”

             “What?” Jolted out of his reverie, eyes wide, Julian uncurled from his huddle on the counter. “No. _No._ ” Weakly, his wings wrapped around them both. “I would never.”

             Softly, but still accusing, Canis laid a hand on his chest. “You’ve been pulling out your feathers.”

             “That’s different. I can’t help that.” Fumbling to cover the bare patches on his forearms, Julian swallowed. “Besides, this is nothing; I-I could still fly like this, I just—”

             “Don’t want me to see you.” Despite his best efforts, Canis’ lip trembled.

             “I thought I would feel better, telling you.” Julian started to touch his cheek, balking the moment he saw curved black talons next to smooth, freckled skin. “Having someone who knows, and doesn’t—doesn’t mind, but—” His voice broke, and he all but fell back against the counter, sinking down into a ball on the floor. “…I just feel ashamed.” Wings stretched out on either side of him in the inch of crushed glass on the floorboards, one hand fell limp into his lap, the other clutching his throat, nails just pricking the pale skin as if reminding himself of their razor-sharpness. Forlorn, his eyes were fixed on something invisible and miles away. “When you didn’t know, I could at least pretend—I _had_ to pretend—I was still—” He swallowed, hand shuddering closed. “And it—it was upsetting when I couldn’t pretend well enough, but when I did, when I hid it completely, I—it actually felt true. For a moment, I could forget—I just want to _forget_ —” His jaw tightened, lip trembling. “And now, I just feel…exposed.”

             Clearing the glass away with wisps of magic, Canis crawled into his lap. He couldn’t think of anything to say, but Julian wouldn’t have heard him if he had.

             “I’m glad it doesn’t bother you,” he went on, quietly. “I can’t tell you what it means to me that you aren’t disgusted, or afraid, or—” Helplessly, he met Canis’ eyes, face contorting in pain and glistening with tears. “I don’t want to be this.”

             It was a lonely little plea, a whisper in a dark room, and it had the simple familiarity of a mantra. Canis could only wonder how loud those same words were inside his head, how long they’d been echoing. I don’t want to be _this_.

             Taking Julian’s hands into his lap, though he tried instinctively to pull away, Canis slid one hand up the back of his neck, guiding Julian’s head to his heart, holding him steady while he fought off tears.

             “It feels—better to hide.” Curling tightly around him, hanging on for dear life, Julian took a shaky breath. “If—if they _think_ I’m human, maybe—” He crumpled into Canis’ chest, wings drawing around them both in a warm, dark shield. “Maybe that’s enough?”

             Canis waited, but Julian only burrowed into his chest, trying to disappear. Stroking his hair, Canis pressed a kiss into the thick auburn curls and held onto him, rocking slightly. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured, feeling the tickle of a tear running down his chest, the lavender voile of his blouse wet from Julian’s face buried in his shoulder. “I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better.” He bit his lip. “But I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

             With a shuddery breath, Julian pressed into the crook of his shoulder. “…I don’t want to fly.”

             “Okay. That’s okay.” Canis kissed the side of his head, running fingers through the feathers on the inside of his wings. “We’ll stay in. Just you and me. Come on.” He started to stand up, and Julian followed automatically, wings folding away with a small tremor of pain. Leading him by the hands, Canis picked carefully over the minefield of glass shards to the bedroom, sitting him down on the bed. Amid the rumpled covers were one of Julian’s oversized white shirts and a single leather glove—the mate was flung haphazardly over the nightstand. The back of the shirt was in tatters, presumably from the ten-foot wings bursting through the cotton, but the front was intact, and Canis helped him into it, easing one long arm through each billowy sleeve and draping it over his shoulders. Julian still wouldn’t look at him, eyes still wet, listless, and barely-open. His tired gaze landed on the glove, and he reached for it, gripping it tightly, thankfully before pulling it over one taloned hand.

             Canis winced, watching him feel over the smooth black leather and breathe a sigh of relief. “…Does it make you feel better?”

             Julian nodded.

             He took a deep breath, sitting next to him on the bed and floating over the other glove on a cushion of golden mist. The fading sunlight from the bedroom windows gave a bluish, otherworldly gleam to Julian’s feathers, and he looked very pale next to them. The shadows under his eyes were like bruises, deep and sanguine-purple, every line in his face made darker and bolder in the cool nighttime light. He didn’t look so much older as creased, like paper, weathered and used. Patches of ragged feathers stood out matte black against the glossy ones, in the spots along his spine he couldn’t reach to groom, and the patches he’d plucked bare were like dark holes. His hair was a mess, curls twisted and wrought into tangles from nervous tugging, the shorter layers in the back sticking up at all angles. He tried fruitlessly to keep the remains of his shirt in place while covering the feathers peeking out from the hems of his gloves, folding in on himself with shoulders wound tight, quivering from the stress.

             Straightening the covers, nudging the pillows into some kind of order, Canis slipped off his boots and scooted up to the head of the bed, folding back the sheets expectantly. “Come here.”

             Snapping out of his fog, Julian looked at him. “…It’s early.”

             Canis shrugged, snuggling back into the pillows. “You look tired.”

             He hesitated, then slid up to the head of the bed, pulling Canis to his chest. One wing twitched up to wrap around them, but he quickly clamped it down. “I’m always tired.”

             Malak fluttered in from the kitchen, landing on the headboard and nipping at the tiny golden bells in Canis’ ponytail. Julian frowned, waving him away. “Can’t get comfortable, can’t stop thinking…some nights are worse than others.” He kissed Canis’ forehead, sighing. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

             Curling up against him, Canis kissed under his jaw. He wanted to pet the wings more—stroking the downy feathers along Julian’s spine always calmed him down—but Julian was still so jumpy, coiled around him like a spring, and he didn’t want to risk it.

             Thwarted from the bells, Malak made a grumpy grinding sound and hopped away, landing on the mattress. Cocking his head back and forth, he inspected Julian’s much larger wings, clicked his beak a few times, and attacked one of the dull patches of old feathers, tugging out the broken and shed shafts built up into a dense mat.

             Immediately, Julian stiffened, feathers standing on end, twitching away from the small curved beak and reaching back to shoo Malak away. “Malak, _no_ —“

             “Malak, no,” the raven repeated, low and scratchy, hopping just out of reach and fluffing up in alarm.

             “Oh, he’s just trying to preen you.” Stroking his chest reassuringly, Canis smiled. “He’s bonding. He probably wouldn’t mind if you preened him back, either.”

             “I have,” Julian mumbled, flinching, but not resisting, when Malak dove in for another try. “I give him baths and fix his feathers when they’re broken.”

             “Well, that’s it. He just wants to take as good care of you as you do of him,” Canis assured him, gently leading his eye away from his wings. “It’s okay.” Guiding one of Julian’s hands into his hair, he made a face. “I’m not surprised you can’t get comfortable with mats like that.”

             “I can’t reach,” he admitted, with a small, sheepish grin into the pillow. “I should’ve pushed harder for Asra to cut them off.”

             Trying and failing to smooth his hair back in order, Canis raised an eyebrow. “Your feathers?”

             “My wings.”

             Canis froze. It was so casual, he almost didn’t register it, and then he couldn’t believe it, running a hand unconsciously over the wing Malak wasn’t working on. Asra said he’d asked to have them clipped, and even that seemed like an undertaking. There was just so _much_ of them, each longer than Julian was tall, almost as wide, the long bones sprouting from his shoulder blades as thick as his biceps. Canis couldn’t imagine the time and agony it would take to remove just one. “Oh, Julian…”

             “They—I—” Julian sighed, avoiding his wavering gaze. “They didn’t feel like…mine. They still don’t. I don’t know _what_ they are, what—” Pressing into the mattress to get away from them, he closed his eyes. “I don’t even have a word for what I am.” He took a deep breath, resting his head on Canis’ chest. “This _looks_ like my body, and it moves like my body, but it’s not, it doesn’t—it doesn’t belong to me.” He sighed, going limp. “I belong to it.”

             Canis frowned. “You can’t talk about yourself that way.” Propping Julian up (and disturbing Malak’s diligent preening), he forced him to make eye contact. “It only gives more power to your curse, and it _certainly_ won’t make you feel any better.”

             “I know, I made a choice, and I can’t take it back.” Julian winced. “I wouldn’t, even if I could. I just—I’m tired, my dear.” His face fell, and he touched Canis’ cheek gently. “I’m uncomfortable, all the time, and I’m so tired.”

             “Come here.” Softening, Canis pulled the blankets up around them. “If I have your consent, I know a spell to help you sleep.”

             Rubbing one exhausted eye, Julian nodded. “That…would be nice.”

             Canis snuggled close to him. “You’ll probably wake up at three in the morning, since it’s so early,” he quipped, laying a hand gently on his forehead with a soft golden glow. “But then we’ll just have sex.”

             In spite of himself, Julian laughed, a sudden bark that sent Malak to the nightstand in a flurry of irritated feathers.

             “What?” Kissing his nose, Canis giggled. “That’ll get you back to sleep.”


	15. The Fox And The Cat

            “So do you strip first and _then_ walk out into the middle of the forest, or…” Ducking under the clothesline strung through the middle of Muriel’s hut, Valentin hung up two damp, blue-gingham pillowcases, glancing at him over the line. “Do you have a special rock you keep your clothes under…?”

            Wringing out one of his sheets, Muriel frowned into the bucket of sudsy water between his knees. “If I tell you, you’ll…want to come with…”

            “Strip first, got it.”

            He spread the sheet out on the dining room table, smoothing out the wrinkles, shaggy black hair falling in his face and conveniently hiding a smile.

            “Don’t worry, I know you don’t want me to see you change.” Rolling his eyes, Valentin held out a hand expectantly for the sheet. “But now I have something to think about while I sit here waiting for you to get back.”

            Muriel snorted. “You don’t have to do that.”

            Valentin caught his eye as they draped the sheet over the line together, cocking an eyebrow. “Try and stop me.”

            Cheeks flushing, Muriel retreated to the wash bucket, scrubbing at the stains in the dark grey linen of his other shirt. “Normally I don’t bother getting dressed,” he mumbled. “On full moons. Since…” He shrugged. “But you’re here, so…”

            “Don’t cover up on my account.” Ducking under the clothesline, Valentin leaned back against the table, stretching and fixing his hair. He expected more blushing and grumbling, but instead, Muriel smile, peeking up at him from the wash bucket.

            “Could say the same to you.”

            Valentin’s jaw dropped, one hand flying protectively to his chest—and his multilayered outfit, shirt, scarf, berry-blue waistcoat stitched with golden foamflowers. His coat was off, draped over the chair, and his sleeves were rolled up two flips from his wrists, but still, it was more clothing on one person than Muriel had hung on the line. When the shock wore off, he narrowed his eyes, smoothing the tasseled ends of his scarf. “Oh, does that bother you? Because we still have a few hours before sunset.” He shrugged. “If you’d like to do something about it.”

 -

            Muriel left when the light turned golden, the sun dipped low enough to brush the treetops. It took another half-hour at least to set completely, but he’d mentioned wanting to be deep in the woods when he changed—so Valentin wouldn’t hear him.

            It was hard to put _that_ out of his mind while he waited, curled up on the big bed with his needlepoint—Canis wanted a set of handkerchiefs for the doctor. Anything was fine, he’d said, except, for some reason, birds. Occasionally, he got up to stoke the fire or adjust the wicks in the lamps burning in the windows. Then the sun was down, the forest awash in silvery moonlight, and the noises started.

            The hut was quiet, calm—sigils carved into the door, rafters, and window frames glowed dimly, just in case. But outside, distant as they were, the canopy rustled with shrieks and moans. The first roar, guttural and nowhere near far enough away, made him flinch, dropping a stitch and swallowing a bubble of dread.

            A shadow passed over the small front window, then blotted it out entirely. After a moment, one big green eye peered into the hut. Letting his breath out, Valentin tossed his needlepoint aside and went to the door. “Took you long enough.”

            _Fuff_. Sitting down in the small clearing in front of the hut, Muriel’s head was higher than the root-entangled roof. His tail thumped in the grass, both ears pricked. In the brief interlude between horrifying forest noises, Valentin laughed, pulling the door wide so he could squeeze into the hut. “Come on—”

            _Help!_

            It was like a voice, cutting through the forest chatter with shocking clarity, but it had no pitch or timbre, no real volume, only desperation. Muriel heard it, too, looking sharply back at the treeline, ears flattening. He paused, stock-still and listening, then ducked and tried to nose Valentin inside.

            “What—no!” Dodging the long, scarred muzzle, Valentin frowned. “What _is_ that?”

            Muriel let out a low whine, bumping the doorjamb with his nose.

            Valentin crossed his arms. “Is it dangerous?”

            Glancing back at the trees again, Muriel dipped his head in assent.

            Buttoning his coat, Valentin pulled the door shut, running a hand over the protective sigils so they shimmered with an extra layer of turquoise. “Then what makes you think I’d let you go alone?”

            With a grumbly noise in the back of his throat, Muriel pawed at the ground, but before he could really argue, the strange calling-out came again:

            _Please!_

            With a huff, Muriel nudged Valentin’s shoulder, opening his mouth. Valentin didn’t move. “Do _not_ pick me up again.”

            _Snrt._ Reluctantly, he crouched down and nodded to his broad, sloping back, avoiding Valentin’s eyes.

            “…I guess that’ll work.” Climbing up onto Muriel’s back, Valentin sighed, clinging to his neck and grabbing fistfuls of thick black fur. “This is _not_ the kind of riding I’ve been wanting to do.”

            _Pff_. The ground fell out from under him as Muriel stood up, trotting into the forest and slowly picking up to a run. It was not a smooth ride, and the tree trunks flashing by in the moonlight made him dizzyingly nauseous, so that all he could really do was squeeze his eyes shut and hang on for dear life as Muriel bounded through the dark forest. He slowed to a trot, then a walk, then lay down as flat as possible in the brush for Valentin to slide off. One shaky hand buried in Muriel’s fur, the other gripping the nearest tree branch, Valentin’s head slowly stopped spinning, and he caught his breath, still hanging onto Muriel while his legs un-jellied.

            Just through the trees was a huge clearing, brilliantly illuminated under the full moon, and the cool breeze dancing through the birch trees smelled like water. The clearing was huge, a wide expanse of grass and wildflowers sloping down to a rocky shore. Beyond that, the lake, the surface perfectly still, flowed with an unearthly light like molten silver. It didn’t just reflect the full moon—it was as through the whole thing were a basin of liquid moonlight, bright and completely opaque. When Valentin had his feet under him again, Muriel snuffled over to the water, eyes wary and hackles raised.

            The “voice” spoke again, still soundless, and weaker:

            _Somebody…_

            At the water’s edge, Muriel stopped short, looked back at the treeline with troubled eyes, and let out a very uncharacteristic yip. Valentin rushed over.

            Where the rough grey rocks met the strange silver water was a pile of different stone, smooth, white, and flecked with purple mica. Valentin could make out shapes carved into the alabaster chunks, the stems and tails of letters reduced to rubble. Hovering over him, Muriel whined.

            _They destroyed it._

_Please…_

            Without a moment’s hesitation, Valentin called up his magic, bright turquoise wisps swirling around his fingers. Canis could make fire dance like the animals he trained, and Asra could walk through a rainstorm without feeling a drop, and they could tease all they wanted, but they couldn’t feel stone like he could. Stone was quiet, introverted; stone didn’t like to be disturbed, the jagged breaks and cracks in each hunk of rubble tender like open wounds, soft, glittering mineral molding easily back to the shape it remembered, cracks sealing up with a sound like a sigh of relief.

            The finished structure was a headstone-like slab with a beveled top. The front was slightly recessed, with two small steps down to the rocky shore, and a verse carved into the sleek white stone:

            _Beware the Lady of the Lake_

_The damnèd soul that hers did take_

_All others who would wend her banks_

_Come in peace and go in thanks_

_The waters 'neath a changing moon_

_No longer be her fallow tomb_

_Unless the stone some hand do break_

_Attend the Lady of the Lake_

            As ominous as it looked, much like any rhyming verse carved into any strange forest shrine, it didn’t feel malicious, and the glowing water, eerie as it was, didn’t radiate any kind of staggering energy or awe-inspiring aura. Valentin had no plans to touch the magic glowing water anytime soon, but he noticed, once the stone was restored, that he hadn’t heard an unholy shriek or earth-shaking roar since they’d arrived in the clearing, as though the light shining from the impenetrable waters were a kind of liquid calm, a soothing blanket over the lately troubled forest.

            Silently, a single ripple in the mirror-glass surface, the Lady said, _Thank you_.

            And the world was quiet.

            A deer picked its way out of the treeline, small and reddisch with short, straight antlers. It froze almost immediately, black nose twitching, watching Muriel warily. With a snort, he lay down in the grass, turning away from it and laying his head flat. Satisfied, the small buck trotted over to the water’s edge, lowering its head to drink.

            Suddenly, Muriel lifted his head, ruff rising on the back of his neck in alarm. The deer seemed not to notice. Valentin followed his gaze to the edge of the forest where the buck had appeared, and a chill ran down his spine.

            He couldn’t see anything in the trees, even with the light of the lake. The shadows between the trees were as thick as black velvet, stretching too far into the clearing, long and curling almost like flames in slow motion. Slowly getting to his feet, Muriel let out one short, sharp bark.

            The buck bolted, darting toward another opening in the brush, and something flashed out of the trees after it, a blaze of unnatural white and red and gold. Muriel was faster, a wall of black fur barreling over the rocky shore. Valentin sprinted after him with no hope of catching up, while the roebuck disappeared into the forest and Muriel lurched to a stop, pinning something in the long grass. He was still a good thirty yards away when there was a growl that nearly made his heart stop, throaty and vicious and punctuated with a snap of teeth, and it wasn’t Muriel’s.

            Pinned under his heavy paw, thick black claws only biting into the dirt on either of its head, was…well…it was horned, humanoid, and angry, showing very _non_ -humanoid teeth and lashing out at Muriel’s muzzle with wickedly-sharp claws. The black hand didn’t connect, but the other, composed of metallic golden plates with a spectral reddish glow seeping from the seams, did, slashing open Muriel’s cheek and showing his captive in droplets of dark blood. He recoiled with a whimper of pain, but not enough to let the thing up, and it squirmed fruitlessly under him while it sucked the blood off its golden claws.

            In spite of himself, Valentin made a face. “Ugh.”

            The creature froze, turning its glowing eyes on him, brilliant red with irises like chips of pewter. For a moment, it only stared, corpse-pale face decorated with black markings. It smelled like ritual smoke and hot metal, and spoke with a permanent sneer.

            “I know you.” It smirked, licking Muriel’s blood off its lips. “We have a mutual friend.”

            Muriel let out a low, rumbling growl. Valentin glanced at him. “You know each other?”

            “Not who I meant.” Struggling under Muriel’s weight, the creature scowled. “Kill me or let me up, Bingo. I don’t have all day.”

            Muriel made no move to do either, eyes flicking worriedly between it and Valentin. _Frff_.

            Valentin frowned. Everything looked small next to Muriel, but the captive creature was even smaller than him, and though it looked to be mostly muscle, he had faith in his and Muriel’s abilities. “It’s okay. I can handle it.”

            Reluctantly, Muriel let the creature go, though he stayed conspicuously between them. Grumbling, it got up, brushing itself off and fixing the ruby-red funerary shroud it wore. “ _Him_ , not _it_ ,” the creature snapped, preening and combing back his hair with his claws. “Are you this mean to all your friends?”

            “You clawed my boyfriend,” Valentin replied flatly. “We’re not friends.” Blinking at him, Muriel made a questioning sound in the back of his throat. Valentin rolled his eyes. “We’ll talk later.”

            The creature sniffed. “He attacked me.”

            “He stopped you,” Valentin corrected, crossing his arms. “And he didn’t even hurt you.”

            “But he _did_ let the deer get away.” He shot Muriel a look. “You didn’t even take it for yourself. What a waste.”

            Muriel only glared at him.

            “Whatever.” Wiping the last of Muriel’s blood from his face and chest, the creature licked his hands clean. “I’ll just track it down again. A girl’s gotta eat.” Red eyes gleaming, he cocked one switchback eyebrow. “Unless one of _you_ wants to volunteer.”

            Hackles rising, Muriel growled, and the creature rolled his eyes. “Shut _up_ , Tiny.” Waggling his golden claws, he grinned. “I know human blood when I taste it. We both know what you are, and we both know you don’t have a real killer instinct. You’re not gonna hurt me.”

            Muriel flinched. Valentin didn’t. “Maybe not, but I will.”

            The thing snorted, looking him over. “Yeah?” In a flash of red, his back hit the ground, one clawed hand pinning his wrist over his head, stale, bloody breath hot on his cheek. Forcing his head to the side, exposing his neck, the creature panted, “You sure about that?”

            Panicked, Muriel bounded over to him, but before he could do anything, Valentin slammed his free hand into the thing’s chest, throwing him back on the grass in an explosion of turquoise. A huge splash of pale skin turned to dingy grey schist, rough and knobbled, and the creature let out a screech, scrabbling uselessly at the stone with his claws. While Muriel nudged Valentin worriedly to his feet, he tried to make the stone spread, but it argued with him—it didn’t belong there, didn’t _want_ to be part of this infernal thing.

            Little by little, the grey stone melted back to sallow skin, but the damage was done. Cowering in the grass, the creature watched wide-eyed as Valentin brushed himself off, reaching back to check on his braids. “Come near either of us again, and I turn you into a birdbath.”

            The creature’s lip curled, claws flexing, and for a second, he seemed to be sizing them up for another strike—then the shadows surged forward from the treeline, and he was gone.

            Muriel curled around him protectively, and Valentin leaned into his shoulder. “Take me home. I have to fix my hair.”


	16. The Flower of Dew

            Voices, jumbled and discordant.

            _I thought I smelled something burning._

_I’m not finished with you yet._

_Come on, come a little closer._

_I’m so hungry._

They were so soft, and overlapping, Canis could hardly tell them apart, let alone if he recognized any.

            _Monsters…terrorizing my streets, and slaughtering my people._

_Why did you leave?_

_It won’t even hurt, it’ll be so quick._

Except one.

            _I can’t control it. Every time, I lose more of myself._

            _What will I do when I can’t speak anymore? When I don’t recognize you?_

The other voices quieted, one by one, and he was in the forest, a clearing of dehydrated grey surrounded by papery white birch-trunks. They stretched up impossibly high into a sickly yellow sky, bare of branches and leaves.

            _I’m scared, Canis_.

            Julian’s voice, normally so smooth and warm, drifted up from the cracks in the dirt, strained and trembling. He turned, searching the treeline, but the darkness between the trunks was unyielding, and he was alone.

            _I would never leave you_.

            The sky darkened to muddy green, then to black, a single pinprick of a star spinning larger and larger until it was a full, burning, scarlet moon.

            _But I couldn’t stop it._

            The moon hung, bloody red, on its bed of black velvet. Then it blinked.

            The air was stale, cold, like a mausoleum, ‘til it was shattered by a long, mournful howl. The trees shook and swayed in the distance as a huge black shape thundered through them, heavy paws pounding the dead earth. Above, a black shadow covered the moon, only a few weak red rays filtering through its wings, and let out a deep, croaking cry.

            _Rooooook._

            The wolf blasted into the clearing, snorting, panting, scarred black nose glistening red, and the shadow descended upon it, curved black talons sinking into its back and tearing away its skin in one solid piece. Tumbling end over end, a body fell out of the skin onto the cracked ground, and the shadow disappeared in a flurry of feathers. So drenched in blood he was almost unrecognizable, Muriel lay on the ground, still and quiet. Canis tried to run to his side, and a clawed hand closed over his mouth.

 -

            He woke with a gasp and a start, the first glimmers of dawn peeking over the sill of Julian’s bedroom window. Julian didn’t stir, splayed out like a starfish with his head on Canis’ chest, wings stretched out over the whole bed, covering them both in heavy black-feathered blankets. The actual blankets had been kicked into a bunch on the floor, and Malak was nestled in the middle of them, head tucked under his wing.

            The first dream had made him sick to his stomach; this one went after his head, a hot stabbing at the back like a knife stuck through the base of his skull. He sat up, easing out from under the shelter of Julian’s wing and pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. With a sigh, Julian curled around his waist, curly red head resting in his lap, one long arm laid across him and hanging off the bed. Canis took a long look at the talons dangling in the open air, curved and black like those that had torn into dream-Muriel, inky-black like his nightmare’s sky. But they were small—too small to rip the skin from a monster wolf, and blunted. Since Canis could stand to look at them, he clipped away the razor-points whenever Julian asked, which was often.

            Sliding a hand into the silky feathers along his spine, Canis felt the rise and fall of Julian’s breathing, while his voice echoed through the throbbing headache.

            _I’m scared, Canis._

_I can’t control it._

            Echoes, he guessed, from the night before, holding and rocking his sobbing bird-creature lover in a heap of broken glass. His dreams, troubling as they were, were trying to make sense of his waking life in a dark, disjointed jumble. He didn’t really blame them.

            “Mm…” Scaly black fingers flexed, and Julian nuzzled into his stomach. In the blanket-nest on the ground, Malak perked up, cocking his head to one side—but there he stayed. The drowsy-spell had long worn off—the fact he was still sleeping was just a testament to how tired he truly was. Through his aching head, Canis smiled, stroking his hair, faintly wondering how he’d feel when he woke.

            Something hit the window with a sharp _tak_. Canis jumped; Malak puffed up and let out an indignant _rikk_. Sliding out from under Julian’s wing, Canis went to the window to investigate, picking over the scattered clothes and cast-off feathers littering the ground. At the base of his neck, his bite-mark tingled, and he had an idea of what he’d see outside—but it didn’t make him any less annoyed.

            Scribbling a note for Julian on the nightstand just in case, pulling on his boots as he hopped down the stairs, Canis sprinted out of the clinic to the narrow alley out back, hissing, “It’s broad daylight!”

            “It’s not _broad_.” Lucio sniffed, hefting another rock to toss at the window. “Sun’s not even all the way up.”

            “People can still see you!” Tearing the petal-pink scarf off his hips and throwing it over Lucio’s horns, Canis hurried him down a side street. “And _I_ know you’re not responsible for the attacks, but to anyone else, you definitely look like a suspect.”

            “What are you doing _here_?” Lucio frowned, looking him over critically while he allowed himself to be hurried. “It was still dark when I went to your place—if you’d been home, I wouldn’t have had to risk it.”

            “You didn’t _have_ to come find me.” Dragging him toward the edge of town, Canis huffed. “I’m fine, and I was _going_ to come visit you later.”

            “Well, I need you now!” Stopping short, Lucio grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand to his own chest. “Look at that!”

            Black claws wrapped around his wrist, palm pressed flat to hot sallow skin, Canis looked. Lucio was dressed in the soft white shirt he liked to sleep in after a night out hunting, the laces hanging loose so nearly all of his chest was exposed. It was the only spot on him that was largely free of soot markings, just a-little-too-pale skin and tight muscle he was so fond of showing off.

            Canis sighed, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “…Very nice. But like I said, I was planning to check on you later, in case you needed blood—”

            “What?” Lucio frowned. “No—I know, but—no, not my chest, the—” Releasing Canis’ wrist, he felt over his chest, red eyes wide. “—huh?”

            Hesitating, Canis squinted at him. “ _Do_ you need blood? You’re acting weird.”

            “No! I—” The moment he said it, Lucio tensed, gritting his teeth. Shutting his eyes, he shook himself, and when he opened them, they took a second to re-focus, their usual crimson glow dim. “Your _friend_ tried to turn me to stone!”

            Stone—it had to be. “Valentin?” Curiously, Canis tried to catch his eye, leading him on by the wrist. He could see Lucio’s white brick walk-up, now, just a block away. “Where did you see Valentin?” As far as he knew, Valentin had spent the night at the hut, and Lucio wouldn’t go within a hundred yards of anything that smelled like Muriel.

            “Spell must’ve worn off,” he muttered, pawing compulsively at the center of his chest. His eyes were darting, teeth bared.

            “What did you do that Valentin cast a spell on you?” Watching him, Canis started toward the house, keeping a firm hold on his wrist. “Did you hurt him?”

            “Fuck.” Panting, Lucio flexed his metal fingers, the plates of his wrist shifting under Canis’ palm. “Why’d you have to say blood?”

            “Well, do you need it?” Glancing around warily, Canis tried to lead him in a straight line, but he kept listing, like he was dizzy. “What happened last night?”

            “They interrupted me while I was hunting,” Lucio muttered, shaking his head. “Never did get anything.”

            Canis hesitated, one foot on the back stairs. “How long have you gone without eating?”

            “You said it, and now I can’t stop thinking about it.” He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a streak of saliva on the soot-colored skin. “I need it.”

            “Okay.” Grip tightening around his wrist, Canis held out his other hand. “Give me your key.”

            Without looking, Lucio dug it out of his pocket, eyes trailing up Canis’ arm to the faded bite-mark just under his collar. Canis heard him gnawing on one claw while he got the door open, and he’d barely taken a step inside before Lucio had him pinned to the ground, growling in his ear, floorboards cracking under his claws.

            Canis let out a yelp just before he hit the ground, but he didn’t flinch, reaching back to cover his bite with one hand. “It’s okay. You can bite. But you have to get the door, first.” It was wide open, the key still in the lock.

            Pressing his cheek into Canis’ hand, Lucio groaned. “…I need it.”

            “I know.” Canis didn’t budge. “Go get the door.”

            “Mm.” Sharp teeth bumped his knuckles, the breath behind them hot and ragged. “Need it.”

            “Lucio.” Canis watched him, holding firm so he couldn’t get at the bite. “Get the door.”

            He took a deep, slow breath, the floorboards creaking as his claws dug in. Then, abruptly, he pushed away, tearing out a few splinters of wood as he did. Canis rolled over to see him crouched, panting through his metal fingers, staring into nothing. After a long moment, he yanked the key out of the lock and gave the door a shove.

            “Thank you.” Picking himself up, Canis stepped over the claw-gouges in the floor, brushing splinters off his boots. “Let’s go to the bed. You don’t like pushing me into the floor, remember?”

            Slowly, looking at him as if through a kaleidoscope, Lucio nodded.

            “Come on.” Canis went to the bed as calmly as he could, actively resisting the urge to turn around. Even so, he could feel Lucio’s eyes on his back, and he expected to be pounced on the moment he sat down.

            Instead, Lucio wandered to his side, dropping heavily onto the mattress. His breathing was labored, hands claws-up and limp in his lap, and he was shaking ever so slightly.

            “It’s okay.” Carefully, Canis took his hand, guiding it to the back of his own head. “Just be gentle, like you always are.”

            “Uh-huh.” Mechanically, eyes still glazed, Lucio eased him onto his back, sweeping the thick brown waves away from his neck before straddling him, leaning in low and taking a deep inhale of his mark, ending in a shudder.

            “It’s okay,” Canis said again, sliding a hand up into his hair, stroking gently behind one dark spiral horn. Despite his odd, detached demeanor, the otherworldly heat radiating from his chest and the heady, sweet, ritual-smoke smell of him were familiar, now, and comforting. The claws in his hair were still gentle. Touching the inky-black markings under one bloody-red eye, Canis brought him closer, ‘til jagged teeth just brushed his mark. “You know when to stop.”

            Lucio bit him. Hard. He let up quickly, but for a second, the pressure on Canis’ throat was suffocating, so that he couldn’t even squeeze out a gasp of pain. The four-pointed bruise in the center of his mark throbbed, each point of the circle burning around a deadly-sharp tooth. Sparks exploded behind his eyelids. Unlike times before, he was only vaguely aware of the tongue laving over his neck, the body pressing him into the mattress, the groans and growls vibrating in his chest. Instead, he was distracted by the sensation of _draining_ , goosebumps prickling up his arms and spine as though he could feel the life leaving him with every swallow.

            Then warm fingers brushed over the crook of his neck, instantly closing the wounds, and he was back, swaddled in a thick fur blanket while Lucio licked himself clean, as always. He felt dizzy, and light, a little cold, but no more than usual. When Lucio slid under the covers and held him close, the light was back in his eyes, glinting silver and burning red, and he kissed Canis’ forehead with a grin.

            “You know, with how hard I work, it’s nice to get a free meal once in a while.” Showing all his teeth in a yawn, he ran his fingers through Canis’ hair. “Delicious as always, sweetheart.”

            Canis frowned, leaning away to study his face. “Are you really trying to pretend that was normal?”

            “…No.” Avoiding his eyes, Lucio tried to snuggle up to him nonchalantly. “I was a little hungrier than normal.”

            “A little?” Canis’ eyebrows shot up. “You could barely hear me, you were so fixated on getting a bite.”

            “I haven’t eaten in two days!” Lucio scowled. “Your friend and the wolf scared off my prey last night.”

            Searching his eyes, Canis hesitated. “That’s how you are after only two days?”

            “What, you don’t eat every day?” Lucio scoffed, but the way he reached to stroke Canis’ hair was pleading, almost contrite. “I told you I get hungry. And I’m terrible at waiting.” He tried for a winning smile, with marginal success. “I didn’t scare you too badly…did I?” Grin faltering, he gave Canis a once-over.

            “I’m not scared—I’m worried.” Shaking his head, Canis touched his chest, the faintest traces of Valentin’s magic still clinging to the skin, a flash of turquoise and a whiff of eucalyptus. “And I still want to know what you did last night.”

            Grumbling, Lucio flopped back on the pillows. “You mean when your friend so _rudely_ —”

            Canis cleared his throat.

            Huffing, Lucio looked away. “It’s not my fault. I was minding my own business when that stupid dog _pounced_ on me.”

            “Muriel wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Canis cocked an eyebrow. “What were you hunting?”

            “Wh—I—” Pouting, Lucio wrinkled his nose. “…A deer. But I have to eat _something_ ,” he added with a wince.

            “They don’t know that, honey.” Rolling his eyes, Canis snuggled up to his side. “Believe it or not, the average person walking through the woods doesn’t know what you are.”

            “Still!”

            “Is that _all_ that happened?” he asked, tracing circles on Lucio’s chest knowingly.

            A snarl started in the back of his throat, but Canis silenced it with a look. “Oh, come on—” Lucio sighed. “I…tried to scare him off. Pinned him, and…growled, and stuff. You know.” After a moment, he mumbled, “And I clawed the wolf, too.”

            “Lucio!” Sitting up, Canis frowned. “Why would you do that?”

            “To get him off me!” Lip curling, Lucio pushed off the bed, pacing angrily. “He got in my way while I was hunting. They both did. _I_ can’t help—” He froze, glancing back at Canis, and swallowed, sitting on the edge of the bed and glaring at the floorboards. “…It’s not my fault.”

            Canis studied him. His switchback brows were furrowed, the strange third-eye markings on his forehead creased; his hands were folded in his lap, palm-down as if hiding his claws. His eyes were distant—not distracted and glazed with hunger, but locked on something far away.

            _I didn’t scare you too badly…did I?_

            Maybe it was the night he’d spent picking glass out of feathers, or maybe he was still lightheaded from the bite, but the words fell out before he could stop them:

            “Did you ask for this?”

            Lucio jumped, snapped out of his reverie. “…What?”

            “Did you—” Canis bit his lip, sliding over to his side and reaching for his hand. “Did you ask to become a demon? Did you make a deal, or…?”

            Lucio didn’t answer right away, watching as Canis felt over the seams of his golden hand. “Why?”

            “I’m just curious.” Leaning into his side, Canis ran his thumb over the tip of one metal claw, featherlight to keep from pricking himself. “I like you either way, but…” With a small, rueful smile, he shrugged. “You act like you want to be feared, you lash out, sometimes you hurt people...but I don’t think you always mean to.” Still playing with his fingers, he laid his head on Lucio’s shoulder. “I’m wondering if you knew what you signed up for. Or if you even signed up.”

            It was quiet for a long time. Lucio wouldn’t look at him, biting the inside of his lip, and Canis worried he’d crossed a line.

            “So what?” Metal fingers closing around his hand, Lucio buried his face in Canis’ hair. “It’s better than being dead.”


	17. The Thief And His Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, Canis asked...

             There’s an irony to burning alive—it doesn’t smell half bad.

             At first, it was nothing special, just the dark, crackling woodsmoke of a very large campfire. Then the acrid flash of clothes, rope, and hair garnished with searing pain and smothering smoke—then the smell of flesh _cooking_ , crisping skin and rendering fat as the flames licked up the stake. It was the furthest thing from his mind, of course, what with the searing pain and smothering smoke—but stuck out glaringly to him later. He was in more pain than he’d ever imagined, deaf to his own screams over the roar of the flames, and he smelled like an entrée.

             The human body burns long. Longer than the oaken trunk it’s strapped to. His head had already gone light from the fire sucking air from his lungs, throat already raw from howling in the heat, when the heavy stake cracked, crumbled, and fell, plunging him into darkness.

             Darkness—and heat.

             The heat itself wasn’t painful, but every inch of him was raw, exposed, as though he had no skin left. Every second the heat pressed on him, stifling, like a blanket, he expected to be agony. The memory of the flames clung to him, inside and out, a hot spike of fear in his heart and an uncontrollable trembling in his limbs. Even suspended, weightless, in the darkness, his arm and legs were weak and leaden. His breath came fast and ragged, and the air, if that’s what it was, tasted like coal.

             Lucio.

             Not a voice, not really, with volume and direction, but a presence that rumbled above and below and _through_ him in a barely-recognizable form.

             And it was…amused.

             Isn’t that right? Or would you prefer—

             _No. Definitely not_. He hadn’t used that name in years, and with damned good reason. He tried to speak, but his ravaged throat could barely manage a whisper.

             I think you’ll find your voice isn’t the only thing you’ve lost.

             They’d torn it away from him when they grabbed him from the ritual room, wrenched the cushioned metal from his shoulder and let the mob swallow it up. He could only imagine which of those self-righteous stooges had taken it, kept it as a trophy or melted it down for the gold.

             Not your arm, you fool. Your life.

             Oh, right. Had he really lost that, though? He didn’t _feel_ dead, in that he could still think, breathe, maybe even more if he wasn’t so afraid it would feel like burning again.

             Now, I know how much you like to protect yourself with your little delusions, but I’m afraid you _are_ dead.

             Your gluttony has caught up to you, this time.

             _Gluttony?_

             It’s a shame how humans have distorted the meaning, over the years. It isn’t simple greed—avarice only _wants_ , but you…need. You hunger. You ache. You need too much. You indulge, constantly, but it’s never enough.

             Are you satisfied with your life? Letting them burn you, and with you, all the power you’ve amassed, the legacy of a warrior feared the world over…

             Or are you still hungry?

             The word started a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, the heat curling long, oddly-soft fingers around his limbs and prying him painfully out of his weightless fetal clump.

             A wail, a real sound, sliced through the gentle blanket of heat, long and plaintive like the cry of a loon.

             Death is calling for you.

             With the wail came a rush of biting cold, stinging his eyes. Every inch of him screamed—every inch of him was burned, and the cold scraped over the burns like a knife.

             Will you answer?

             He tried to curl up again, but the darkness held him fast, warm and soothing around his wrist and ankles while the freezing wind threatened to tear him away. His sense of gravity returned abruptly when a void opened beneath him, the wailing cold crescendoing to a howl and clamoring to suck him in. Cold, dark, empty, dead, nothing, gone, forgotten— _no_.

             He _was_ still hungry. Under the white needles of cold wind on burnt, ravaged flesh, his stomach twinged with the memory of starvation, pangs like dull, clashing knives. He was still hungry. There were no warm, invisible bonds protecting his stump, and there wasn’t enough arm left to resist the pull of Death’s void. Still hungry. The remains of his skin were fragile, sloughing off and causing the ethereal bonds to slip, just long enough for his heart to drop each time before they recovered their grip. Still _hungry._

Underneath him was cold, damp grass. It should have hurt, should have pricked the red rawness of his burnt body, but it didn’t. The warmth laid over him was soft and red, not impenetrable and black. His head was fuzzy, sleepy, and nothing hurt.

             So glad you’ve decided to stay with us.

             The voice came again, low and ancient, cliffsides crumbling into black ocean.

             Death is so tedious for a creature like you.

             Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean, a strange feeling like cool water poured over him, soothing on his burnt flesh.

             You’ve developed such a talent for draining the life from everyone around you.

             I would hate to waste it.

             He still couldn’t move. A warm, gentle touch painted over his face, his hand, then his stump before the familiar feel of sleek metal slid protectively around it again.

             And you’ve so much experience making deals, by now—I’m sure you won’t disappoint me.

             He frowned, a tugging on his forehead like ink drying on skin, but his voice was still stopped in his throat. For a brief moment, he remembered flames licking at his skin, biting through his clothes. He could point to the first dozen places the fire had touched with his eyes closed, and for a split second, they all prickled with the memory of heat.

             I’m sure this won’t be difficult to remember, but do be careful around fire.

             There is no older or more perfect method of purification, after all. And now that you are thoroughly corrupted…

             There’d be nothing left.

             A chill ran up his spine.

             Don’t worry. I wouldn’t leave you unarmed.

             Another chill, then a shudder, and a spike of adrenaline that sat him bolt upright, ruby-red cloth falling away from his face, to the rocky shore of a silent lake in a dark forest. The water’s surface was dead still, but the air tasted alive, and though the moonless sky cast pitiful light, he could pick out every detail of the shoreline, every groove in every tree-trunk lining the clearing. The cloth pooled in his lap was plain, but plush and velvety, the kind a small but proud warrior tribe would bury their dead commander in, even though there hadn’t been anything of him to bury. Even though they’d stripped it away from him before he burned, his left hand was gold, sensations dull but present under metal fingers.

             The other was black.

             Smoke-stained black, like cloth hung over a candle, pitch-dark to the wrist and fading back to sallow halfway up the forearm. His chest and sides were marred with more of it, spots and rings of ugly scorch-marks. Springing up from the grass, he shattered the new-moon silence with a shriek. “What the _hell?”_

             The underbrush rustled, but that was his only answer. Angrily, he felt over the burnt patches, turning in a circle. They didn’t hurt, didn’t feel any different from his unmarked skin, but they wouldn’t rub off—and they were even on his back. “Hey!” Searching the trees for the source of the voice, he scowled. “Why am I all burnt?’

             You were burned alive.

             Deep and powerful as a distant earthquake, the voice seemed to come from all around. The smell of wet earth and coal drifted in on the breeze, smothering the clean, fresh scent of the lake.

             This is not a new life, but an echo of that which you lost.

             “Whatever,” he growled, the roughness of it surprising him. Swallowing, he shook his head, gesturing to his soot-pocked chest. “It’s hideous. Get rid of it.”

             I don’t choose the form you take.

             His head hurt, a tension ache just behind his hairline.

             A laugh, dark like a mudslide.

             Well, to a point.

             Horns, nearly a foot long, banded and curved back over his hair, two loose spirals narrowing to sharp points. Lucio flinched when he touched them, but they weren’t painful or sensitive, even where they rooted in his skull.

             A pale white shape appeared in front of him, glowing faintly and towering over him by at least two feet. It was translucent, murky, but he could make out curved black horns and burning red eyes, watching him as it spoke.

             I think, in time, you’ll care less for how this body looks, and more for what it can do.

             Lucio snorted. “Wrong.” He started to say more, but a bloodcurdling grinding feeling made him stop, clapping a hand over his mouth. His _teeth_ were shifting, smarting in his jaw, and before he had time to process _that_ , his nails grew and sharpened to claws, even from the seemingly lifeless metal hand. Stunned, he touched one golden tip to his palm, where it nipped through the black skin without a bit of resistance. The blood that welled up and ran down his metal finger was inky-black.

             Now do I have your attention?

             “I…” He thought for a moment, running his tongue over his teeth. They were just as sharp as his new claws, two sets of long canines for piercing, ripping… He frowned. “I can’t do anything like this. My tribe would kill me, my kingdom would kill me _again_ —”

             A rough, animal snort.

             You didn’t say you wanted to rule.

             You said you were _hungry_.

             The bottom dropped out of his stomach. A hot knife twisted in its place. His throat worked, locked together like sandpaper, every muscle shuddering and contracting. There was a void inside him, howling and empty like his sides were caving in, and this time, it did hurt.

             The huge white shape evaporated, but he hardly noticed, clutching his head while his vision reddened and blurred.

             You understand now, don’t you?

             You couldn’t be sated, while you were alive.

             Now, you never will be.

             A creature of need, feeding off the living. Every taste, every bite a little less satisfying, ‘til no earthly amount will suffice.

             Desire turned monstrous.

             He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, could hear the blood pounding in the frantic heart of a rabbit thirty feet away. A deer, nosing through the bushes across the water. A bear in its den a mile to the north. Everywhere, pumping, hot, living blood.

             I am not without mercy.

             There is one thing that will always fill you up.

             “My lord?’

             A wave of new blood, tart and savory compared to the plain metallic scent of animals cowering in the trees.

             The game that never goes out of season.

             “Y…Your Highness?”

             He recognized the tremulous, highfalutin voice, he was sure, but his head was swimming too much to do anything but curl into a ball, claws digging into the dirt, panting raggedly through waves of screaming hunger pangs.

             “I…I saw you burn…”

             A hand lighted on his shoulder, cool on his skin, pulse quickening in the fingertips. His mouth watered.

             “What…happened to you?”

             No longer able to think, he sprang up from the grass, wrestling a familiar body to the ground, sinking his new teeth into a flimsy human throat. The skin broke under his bite with a tantalizing snap, sharp teeth cleaving through muscle while they screamed and thrashed beneath him. Blood sprayed into his mouth when he tore into the artery, claws buried in the ground, knees clamped on either side of thrashing legs. Hot and thick, the taste of fresh blood soothed the hard, gnawing pain inside him, and made him shiver and groan, biting blindly through pale, fragile skin over and over ‘til he was soaked, dizzy from the scent, and still, he needed more.

             Bones snapped like chalk under his claws, marrow dripping out like melted butter. The heart, fluttering feebly under a shelf of viscera, was tough, bunching instead of shredding under his teeth, the blood inside it sweeter, saltier when it ran down his throat. He tore it out of the chest with his teeth, ripping it apart and swallowing the pieces whole.

             He was halfway through licking himself clean when his other senses came back, everything that wasn’t hunger and pleasure and hunting and blood. With one claw, he picked a sliver of heart muscle out of his teeth, and in the faint starlight, recognized his kill.

             Pale eyes glassy in his bloodless face, Valerius’ neck was so ravaged his head had all but come off his body. His breastbone was missing, ribcage splayed open to the deflated sacs of lungs and a conspicuous absence in his chest cavity. The broken ends of ribs littered the blood-soaked grass around him like piano keys. Faithful, if a little bitchy, the man had served him for years, but Lucio didn’t linger on his eviscerated form, combing the blood out of his hair and lapping it off his claws. Every so often, another shiver hit him like an aftershock; he felt warm all over, and light, and full.

             With the torso ripped open, the organs stank. Dragging the corpse by an ankle, Lucio flung it into the lake with all the effort of tossing a shirt into the laundry. The water that splashed back at him was painfully cold, icy needles pricking where it landed on his arm, and he recoiled with a snarl, throaty and low in his chest.

             Through the scent of blood, wrapped around him as warmly and comfortingly as his funeral shroud, there was a whisper of coal.

             Now you’re getting it.


	18. Bearskin

            “Stop squirming.” Wringing out the daisy-patterned washcloth, Valentin frowned. “It doesn’t still hurt, does it?”

            Muriel winced, reaching up to touch the three long scratches crossing from the bridge of his nose to his right cheek. He could only lift his hand about a foot, the muscle of his forearm spasming and uncooperative, but the intention was there. “…No.”

            “…Are you lying?” The cuts were deep, with clean edges from the metal claws of the thing in the woods. The bleeding had stopped by the time they got back to the hut. When they woke, Muriel taking up half the space he had by night, the divots had turned shiny and pinkish. The creature’s golden index finger had missed his eye by a mile, when he was a wolf; now, it was barely a hairsbreadth. The topmost scratch bent and moved whenever he blinked.

            Muriel sank deeper into the pillow, looking away. “…No.”

            Valentin sighed, dabbing his flushed, exhausted cheeks with the cool washcloth. “I should get Asra. I’m not a healer, and you don’t want those to scar.”

            “It doesn’t matter,” Muriel grumbled. His breathing was labored just from lying in bed. “They always scar.”

            “Then do it because they hurt.” Trading out the washcloth for the comb from his coat pocket, Valentin started to work tangles out of his hair. “And maybe you don’t care, but _I_ don’t want you to be in pain.”

            Muriel took a deep breath, peeking at him through shaggy black bangs. “…Thank you.”

            “You don’t need to thank me.” Easing the comb gently through the tangles, Valentin raised an eyebrow. “It’s not some grandiose act of kindness. Just a basic human one.”

            “It is, for someone like me.” Closing his eyes, Muriel sighed. “I’ve lived out here a long time. Away from everyone. I’m…rude.”

            “ _I’m_ rude.” Setting the comb aside, Valentin ran his fingers through Muriel’s hair, sectioning it into threes with practiced precision. “And I don’t even have a good reason to be. You’re antisocial, and a little grumpy.” With a pointed look, he braided the bangs back from Muriel’s face. “But as much as you try to convince me otherwise, you’re still sweet.”

            Muriel made a noise like a bear rolling over, and Valentin laughed. “I don’t care. I’m not taking it back.”

            Glancing up at his braided bangs, Muriel sighed. “Still. Thank you.” His shoulders tensed, straining to slide his arms out from under the covers. “For staying. And looking after me. It…” He gave up, wincing and going limp on the mattress. “…It takes a lot longer without you. To recover.”

            “Thank you for letting me stay.” Pulling the covers up over his chest and smoothing them in place, Valentin gave him a small smile. “Not that I need an excuse to come see you, but…it’s nice to have one.”

            Muriel’s hand moved under the covers, just enough to brush against Valentin’s hip, weakly, and he smiled back.

            There was a knock at the door, and they both jumped. Muriel narrowed his eyes.

            Sliding off the bed, Valentin frowned, reaching out with his magic and relaxing, after a moment. “Speak of the devil.”

            Muriel snorted.

            He rolled his eyes, going to the door. “Bad choice of words. It’s just Asra.”

            “Nice to see you, too,” Asra piped up, muffled behind the front door. A tuft of white curls, shining pinkish in the sun, was just visible in the tiny round window.

            Valentin let him in with a one-armed hug and a kiss, closing the door behind him. “I was just about to send you a message.”

            “I came as soon as I could—as soon as the sun came up.” Sliding the slouchy, multicolored carpet bag off his shoulder, Asra dug through it on the table. Muriel stiffened when he came in, watching him unblinkingly and trying unsuccessfully to push himself up to sitting. Asra pretended not to notice, unloading herbs, crystals, and a few purple candle stubs from his bag. “I almost came out sooner, right when the shrine was broken, but after I felt your magic, Valentin, I figured there was no reason to risk the dark.” He took out a ritual cloth, clean white shot through with thin strands of bright blue, green, pink, and so on, and started to spread it out on the table.

            “Stop.” Valentin took his hands before he could, catching his eye. “You know about the shrine?”

            Asra hesitated, looking down at his hands, then back at Muriel. Immediately, Muriel looked away. “…I built it.” With a sigh, Asra let the ritual cloth go. “I should start from the beginning.”

            Moving the candle stubs and spell ingredients away, Valentin pushed the chair toward him expectantly, crossing his arms. “Yes, you should.”

            Meekly, Asra sat down. Muriel’s eyes were back on him, guarded, and he felt them, but didn’t look back. “These attacks,” he began, taking a deep breath, “the animal mutilations—they haven’t happened before. But the disappearances have.”

            Valentin raised an eyebrow. “Canis has lived here his whole life and he says he’s never seen anything like it.”

            “He has.” Asra shook his head. “We all have. But people didn’t notice, the first time.”

            “Someone goes missing every week,” Valentin countered. “Parents, children, farmers, shop owners—people with families, lives, walk off into the woods and never come back. That doesn’t go unnoticed.”

            “It did seven years ago.” Meaningfully, Asra met his eyes. “During the plague.”

            The word hit like a stone in a shallow puddle—a sharp _plunk_ and a cold ripple in the pit of Valentin’s stomach. The ripples sounded like wet, hacking coughs and sent a horrible itching feeling running up his arms.

            Asra saw the twitch in his fingers and winced, but kept on. “People were dying so often, and so suddenly, it never raised alarms. It wasn’t unusual for your neighbor to be there one day, gone the next—there was no reason to assume people were being taken by anything other than disease, going anywhere other than the mass graves.”

            “My parents died in the plague, Asra.” Scratching absently at his wrists, Valentin shook his head. “I saw it happen. I saw the doctors wheel them away. They didn’t vanish into the woods.”

            “Yours didn’t.” Carefully, Asra reached for his hand, holding it tightly in both of his own. “Mine did.”

            “Your parents?” He’d never asked. Tapping couplets on his wrist with his free hand, Valentin realized distantly that he’d seen the tiny stone plaque set into the ground where Canis went to leave flowers, every so often. It wasn’t far from his own. But Asra never went with them to the graves, and he’d never asked.

            Asra nodded. “They worked with the plague victims, closed the shop to work full-time on healing spells and sleep-charms, but they never got sick. One day, they went to the edge of the forest—just the edge—” His voice shook, and he swallowed. “—and I never saw them again.” His face fell, his eyes clouded and distant. “I went looking for them—”

            “Stupid.” Muriel’s voice was surprisingly strong despite his exhaustion, his eyes hard. “That’s how they found you.”

            Valentin stopped tapping. “They?”

            “Demons.” Rolling over heavily onto his side, Muriel glowered at the floor. “Four of them. Taking sacrifices.”

            “Like the thing we saw last night?” The memory of curved horns and a sharp-toothed smirk made Valentin scowl.

            Muriel gave a vague grunt. “Sort of. I’ve never seen that one before.”

            “Last night?” Asra frowned. “What happened?”

            “You first.” Valentin gave him a sharp look. “They ‘found you’?”

            Exchanging a surprisingly burning look with Muriel, Asra leaned back in the chair, fiddling with the bright magenta fringe of his scarf. “…I went looking for my parents the night after they disappeared. There was a trail—traces of their magic—leading deeper into the woods. I followed it to the Lady’s Lake—although I didn’t know about her at the time—and they found me.”

            “They cornered you,” Muriel muttered, with a withering look at the floorboards.

            Asra winced. “I should’ve been more careful. I should have sensed the blood magic, in the air. I know that now.” Trying to find Muriel’s eye, he bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”

            Muriel wouldn’t look at him—either one of them. Valentin frowned. “Keep going.”

            “There were four of them.” Falling back into his recollection, Asra closed his eyes. “I wasn’t the magician I am now. I couldn’t—they took me to these ruins, with a black altar. I—” He swallowed hard, looking down at his hands. “I could feel my parents’ magic in it. And their fear. The demons wrestled me onto it, held me down, but…Muriel saved me.” Letting out his breath, he glanced over at the bed. “You never did let me thank you. Not properly.”

            “You shouldn’t thank me,” Muriel grumbled, still avoiding his eyes. “Not after you had to watch.”

            A chill ran up Valentin’s spine. “Watch?”

            Asra waited, but Muriel made no effort to respond. Curling into himself in the small wooden chair, Asra took a slow breath. “He gave me a protection-spell, and I was able to get away, but…they took him instead.” His voice was careful, measured, inches away from breaking. “They didn’t even try to chase after me. They were angry—one of them—I still remember the _roar—_ ”

            He was starting to sway, unconsciously, and Valentin moved in, kneeling down to take his hands and catch his wide, clouded violet eyes. “Asra.”

            Blinking to steady himself, Asra squeezed his hands. “They’d been charging the altar with blood—with sacrifices—and—”

            “They used it,” Muriel finished, hoarse and rough.

            Asra nodded, miserably. “Two of them held him to the altar while the others…forced a wolf-pelt around him. It was—” He swallowed, grimacing. “Still bloody. One of them…sewed…him into it…”

            Shrinking into himself, Muriel closed his eyes. “And laughed.”

            Valentin flinched before he could stop himself. So did Asra, though he didn’t try to hold it back. “When the ritual was finished, they let him go,” he went on, with a visible tremble. “I tried to follow him, but he was—you were—too fast—” Pushing up from the chair, Asra took a step toward the bed. “I’m so sorry, Muriel—it’s all my fault—”

            Shying away from him, Muriel shook his head. “I knew what I was doing.”

            “You saved my life.” Pleadingly, Asra reached for him. “And it cost you—”

            “Nothing.” With Herculean effort, Muriel managed to sit up, joints cracking and muscles wound tight. “I stayed away from humans to begin with. Now I have a reason to. That’s all.”

            Asra started to protest, but let the words fall away. Instead, he went back to the table, smoothing out the ritual cloth and arranging spell components one by one. “I wasn’t sure if the demons would come after me, so I went to the lake—my parents always told me its power was strongest on the full moon.”

            “And you met the Lady.” Adjusting each candle stub as Asra set them out so the ends pointed perfectly toward the center, Valentin watched him, still processing everything he’d heard.

            Asra nodded. “She’s a spirit—sort of—who drowned in the lake centuries ago, and became its guardian. She gave me a blessing to get me safely back to town…her magic is powerful, but she can’t leave the water. At least, she couldn’t.” He glanced back at Muriel, counting out leaves of healing herbs. “I offered to make her an anchor, so she could walk freely—if she would help Muriel.” Muriel finally looked at him, and he gave a small smile. Muriel only stared at him, still processing. Asra sighed. “It’s the least I could do.”

            Valentin shook his head, grasping for some semblance of reality. “You were almost sacrificed by demons, your best friend was turned into a wolf, you set a lake monster loose with a marble slab and a hokey poem…and in the seven years we’ve been living together, you didn’t think to mention this _once_?”

            “It…never came up?” Asra winced. “She’s not really a _monster_ …she’s protecting the whole town, and—” He frowned. “I didn’t write a poem.”

            “Well, someone did.” Trying to remember any of the verse from the alabaster slab, Valentin cocked an eyebrow. “And if she’s protecting the town, she’s seriously off her game.”

            Dropping a handful of herbs on the center of the ritual cloth, Asra nodded. “That’s what I’m worried about.” He lit the candles with a flick of his hand and added, “Among other things.”

            “Why now?” Careful of the soft lilac flames, Valentin straightened the edge of the ritual cloth. “Why did they stop, seven years ago? What do they want this time?”

            “I’m not even sure what they wanted the first time.” Asra made a face. “Muriel wasn’t their intended target—that much was obvious.”

            Gradually inching to the edge of the bed, Muriel let out a huff. “Who knows who they _wanted_ to turn.”

            “If that was even the goal.” Placing a cut-quartz bowl on the bed of herbs in the center, Asra passed a hand over it to fill it with water. “Blood magic is powerful—there are any number of things they could do, with as much of it as they’ve been saving up. None of them good,” he added grimly. A dot of light started to glow in the bowl, spreading until the water gleamed so bright purple it was nearly white. “What I want to know is why the Lady’s wards don’t seem to be working—even if they’ve found a way to lure people to parts of the forest beyond the reach of her magic, demons shouldn’t be able to walk the streets, much less leave mutilated carcasses in the city center.” While Valentin gently-but-firmly thwarted Muriel’s attempts to roll out of bed, Asra brought over the enchanted water. “It makes me worry that her other protective spells might start to fade.”

            Muriel’s eyes widened. Keeping a tight hold on him, one hand on his shoulder, the other supporting his head, Valentin frowned. “How many deals did you _make_ with her?”

            “Just the one! Everything else, she did of her own accord.” Dabbing at Muriel’s scratches with the glowing water, Asra winced. “This should help.”

            Watching him work with exhausted eyes, Muriel braced himself on the bed to stay upright. “How much…is she protecting me from? If this isn’t all of my curse…what is?”

            The long scratches raked into his cheek shimmered lilac with Asra’s magic, cool and bright like a spring rain, and healed, skin slowly smoothing over clean and unbroken. The other, older scars on his forehead, cheekbones, the curve of his jaw faded a little, too, lightening and softening around the edges. Asra sat back on the bed, holding the bowl in his lap. He took a deep breath, looking down into the glowing water. “…I don’t know.”


End file.
